Two Jeeps loaded with military personnel drove off the county road and onto the dirt road leading to the camp. When the ma.s.ses of infected spotted the open Jeeps, they moved in a tight-knit mob. As the soldiers fired, they steered into the thinnest portions of the crowd with the intent to break through, perhaps hoping the zombified people would move away. They did not. The Jeeps' engines roared as the vehicles bogged down, grinding the infected beneath their wheels. Bones crunched and infected blood sprayed as the pile of bodies slowed their progress. The remaining crowd surrounded the moving vehicles. Swarming the Jeeps, they grabbed whatever they could, trying to pull men out or themselves into the seats.

A lanky man clad in a mechanic's jumpsuit sat upright in the dirt road, tire tracks impressed over his clothing. He shook his blood-coated head, confused because he couldn't get his legs to move. The fiend seized a leg, raised it with his hands, and then let it drop again. Clouds of dust rose around him, as he began dragging his paralyzed lower body through the dirt following the military vehicle.

More gunfire rent the air, the shots mingled with shouts and screams. Bal Shem saw family members from the non-infected quarter of the camp approaching the military group.

Bad idea.

Now the Army personnel were faced with protecting the civilians from the hysterical infected mob, or defending themselves. There weren't enough of them to adequately protect everyone. As it was, they were quickly losing the battle. A round of automatic gunfire from the first Jeep, mowed down a good number of infected. Zombified flesh eaters danced like marionettes with yanked strings as bullets riddled their bodies, punching blood out their backs in rapid succession. The immediate crowd was culled, but more were headed toward them from the camp. The occupants of the Jeeps were dropping off, too. Several of the newly-arrived military men had been plucked from their seats and torn apart in the dirt by the oncoming mobs.

Four infected men latched onto a young soldier riding in the back of the first Jeep, yanking him from the vehicle. Savagely, they pulled him apart while he screamed and pleaded. A gruesome crack echoed as his arm was pulled so hard that the shoulder was separated from the body, ligaments ripped, skin shredded, muscle snapped. One of his buddies attempted to shoot the infected, but right when it looked like he might have a couple of the infected camp patients in his sights, a large black woman in a pair of red scrubs made a flying leap from the side of the road, landing on the shooter's back. She bit down hard on the right side of his neck, ripping away a mouthful of b.l.o.o.d.y muscles with her foul, black teeth. The man howled, clutching his rifle, blood spurting from the hole like some macabre fountain. Others swarmed him, and two gripped his chin and skull, twisted, and tore off his head. Bal Shem could see the soldier's shocked expression frozen on the blood streaked face of his decapitated head, eyes wide, staring at the empty skies.

The second Jeep veered to miss a sinkhole, yanked the wheel to veer away from a group of infected, and then, losing control, careened into an enormous Red Oak tree, throwing the driver into the road. Immediately zombies leapt onto the unconscious man. Stragglers scrambled to take part in the feast.

Bal Shem laughed. "They won't send any more men here after these fail to return." He watched the bloodbath in sheer delight. "Stupid Americans."

He looked over at Selah. "You better?"

She whispered something he couldn't hear. Bal Shem walked across the room, and crouched beside the girl. She looked exhausted.

"You need to sleep, little one. Let's find a place where you will be safe." Bal Shem scooped Selah's body into his arms and carried her into a hallway leading to the back of the trailer. She breathed heavily and, as exhausted as she seemed, he wondered if by touching her he was somehow leaching away her strength. A closet took up most of one wall in the back room. He opened the closet door. It was empty except for a stack of olive green Army blankets. "This will be a good place."

Bal Shem placed Selah on the floor and used the blankets to make a sleeping pallet in the closet. He put Selah onto the pile, and pulled a blanket over her. "Sleep now."

Selah was too drained to answer. Her eyes had already begun to close. Bal Shem was concerned, but right now he needed to make sure the infected didn't find a way inside the trailer, and he needed to ensure that Selah remained safe in the closet. She didn't protest when he shut the closet door. He pushed a desk and bookcase against it. That will hold her.

Bal Shem returned his attention to the ma.s.sacre. He watched with interest for several minutes.

It was clear from their patterns that the majority of the infected had no rational abilities left. They were mindless drones acting only in pursuit of flesh. He witnessed several zombies charge blithely in front of the vehicles and firing guns with no regard to safety. At the same time, a minority handful of them seemed to have retained some rational thinking. Those avoided the line of fire, choosing to attack from behind, or find a safe spot, perhaps plotting an ambush.

The infection affected each person in a different manner. What was this illness? Whatever it was, it wasn't his followers who released it into the air. They didn't have access to any such biological substance. Their mission had simply been to bring down the plane with the General aboard, and that's what they did. This biological agent must have been aboard the plane because the duplicitous Americans were transporting it somewhere, or released in some other way on the unsuspecting population. He leaned toward the infection being released as a result of the plane's destruction, only because he couldn't imagine the Americans releasing such a plague on their own people, but he supposed it was possible. The vapid fools in Washington that pa.s.sed for the country's government held no true regard for its people. Bal Shem smiled a crooked grin. In any event, if it was the result of his attack on the General's plane, then he and his followers had gotten more than they dreamed possible.

Unfortunately, it also left him stranded. Being stuck in the midst of a biological attack had never been in the plan. And the possibility of his escape in one piece was looking poor. Unless.... Bal Shem watched the maniacal infected fighting over sinewy sc.r.a.ps of meat. A group of infected children sat in a puddle of blood, gnawing discarded bones.

He sat in a nearby chair, beside the desk, and located paper and a pen. He found he could still write, though his ability to string together words at his stage of infection was rudimentary at best. The penmanship was so pathetic it looked as if a toddler had scribbled the words, but he was glad he still had the ability to read and write. Usually the hands were the first to manifest deterioration of the flesh, muscle and tissue. With the exception of his left thumb, the flesh was decaying, but still intact on his hands and lower arms. The slight improvement with each touch from Selah was not enough to completely halt the infection.

Bal Shem jotted a quick concept for organizing the camp. Clearly, he could imprison the healthy people in the camp, subjugate the mindless fiends and bring those possessing shreds of thinking abilities under his command. Whoever controlled the food supply controlled the ma.s.ses.

The food supply wasn't cattle or hogs, or even chickens. All of those stubborn healthy people who had refused to leave loved ones behind at the camp would soon discover they had a new function in life. He only had to get them corralled and safely tucked away before they were completely devoured.

He grinned. This old farm would renew its purpose in his plan. A new kind of farm, like one never seen before. A farm of flesh to feed hundreds of the infected on those who'd stayed behind.

And yet, he thought, there was no need to stop at simply organizing this camp. This infection was greater than any destructive force he and his followers could have wrought on America themselves. If there was a way to organize and put order to the chaos, he could be a King among zombies, commanding a conquering force.

The establishment of his army would begin right here. Slowly, they would branch out to incorporate more infected from surrounding towns and beyond until he ama.s.sed a holy army of infected drones. He just had to convince the insane h.o.a.rds presently devouring the remnants of doctors, police, and military personnel that his plan was the best plan for them all.

CHAPTER 34.

Bal Shem looked in on the sleeping child, and finding her snoozing comfortably, closed the door. He debated the need for barricading the door, but decided to be safe and pushed the bookcase back into place. Then, he went into the main room and looked out the window.

The infected roamed the camp. Some moaned as if in deep inner pain. Others spoke in halting speech. Some fought amongst themselves. A handful of uninfected were hanging tightly to branches, high in trees, while groups of hungry infected patients clawed at the trunks. Toward the family section of the camp, he saw healthy people holding off hordes of infected with makeshift weapons. Outnumbered, they weren't going to last long, and because Bal Shem needed healthy people for his plan, immediate action was required to prevent wholesale slaughter.

Opening desk drawers, Bal Shem rummaged for a bullhorn. A doctor had come from this trailer with one a few days ago. He found it in the bottom left drawer.

He exited the trailer, bullhorn in hand. Surveying the pasture around the outside perimeter of camp, over the rise of a hill, he saw two cows chomping gra.s.s oblivious to the desperation on the other side of the metal fences. Infected cattle had been shot by the military in the early stages of the camp's establishment these two uninfected bovine had survived. Standing on the trailer steps, he pressed the talk b.u.t.ton on the bullhorn, directing his voice toward the shambling mobs of infected. This would be the test to separate the mindless from those retaining some semblance of humanity.

"Why do you fight for just a few morsels when you can have a feast? Look! On the other side of the fence! Cattle!" he shouted, his voice echoed through the camp. "Meat for all!"

The majority of the infected snapped heads toward the fence. From various locations across the camp they came. Many ran, their bodies ricocheting from the barbed wire, tearing clothes and mottled skin in attempts to get over the fence and to the cows. The more clever ones of the bunch used the backs of the fallen to scale the wires. None of them had realized there would not be enough for all of them to eat once they got there it was simply a rush to get to the food and fight for sc.r.a.ps.

But those weren't the infected in which he was interested. Standing still, staring inquisitively, were the infected whom, instead of running toward the cattle in a wild frenzy, stood thinking about the announcement. These were the ones recognizing there was not enough food for everyone rushing the hill. These were the ones recognizing, perhaps, that they were being distracted from the human meals in the camp. From their scattered location, they regarded Bal Shem with suspicion or interest. He could see the questions in their postures. Who is this man? Why does he attempt to draw us away? Is this a trap?

"Excellent," he muttered under his breath.

Bal Shem raised the bullhorn to his mouth: "The rest of you, come here."

The infected patients shuffled toward his trailer. They stood in cl.u.s.ters, saliva bubbled at the corners of their mouths, skin graying, eyes sunken, but alert. He knew that a few retained speech capacities, albeit limited. He intended to find out who those were.

"If you know what I'm saying, raise your hand in the air." Most put their hands in the air. "If you know what I'm saying, raise your left hand in the air." Many struggled. Only a few hands were raised now.

One man limped forward, pants torn from a fight, a broken pitchfork sticking from his lower leg. The wood handle was snapped, but the metal p.r.o.ngs stuck through muscle and b.l.o.o.d.y flesh, bobbing whenever he moved. "Are you ...in charge here?" His speech was slurred, but it was speech nonetheless.

"Yes. I am in charge. The doctors are gone now. They've left us all to die, but I intend that we shall survive. My name is Bal Shem. Can anyone else speak?" He waited as a few in the group watched the killing of the cattle, while others kept their attention on him. Five more hands rose into the air. "Come forward."

He had six who could speak: five men and one woman. The others who remained were less feral than the ones devouring the cattle, but not by much. He didn't have a lot to work with, unless the child had the same effect on everyone that she did on him. When she awoke, he would test her powers to determine if she really had a gift or if he, in his sickened state, had imagined the regenerative effects of her touch.

The infected possessing speech stood before him at the bottom of the metal stairs.

"We must keep the others from eating the remaining survivors. The military will not send more troops now, and the officials have all evacuated the area," he told them. "We must corral the healthy people from the camp into designated barns and tents."

"We could leave them in their tents," said one man in a blue plaid shirt.

"No, we need to separate them from their families, develop in them a dependency on us for food and protection. They are vulnerable, weaker, when without family."

The woman, long dreadlocks swinging over her shoulders, whispered to the man beside her. Bal Shem pointed at her. "Do you have a question?"

"I am ... confused. Will ... we make them work on the farm?" she asked. "To grow food. We need food."

Bal Shem laughed. "This is a cattle farm. The only thing grown here is hay. But, we'll make it into a different kind of farm so we'll have a continual supply of food."

The man in the blue plaid raised his hand in a child-like manner. "What kind of farm?"

Bal Shem held open the door to the trailer, as they began shuffling up the stairs and inside. "We will operate a flesh farm. Together, we will breed, raise and ration our flesh just like herds of livestock. We will round up uninfected people from all over."

A grin split his face as they obeyed him and entered the trailer at his invitation.

"We will never go hungry again."

CHAPTER 35.

Stewart Tobias handed Dejah a foam cup of steaming black coffee. "There's creamer and sugar over there." He pointed to a counter in the corner of the H-Systems cafeteria-sized break room. It was mostly empty now, except for their group and two men in fatigues, eating at a distant table.

Dejah sniffed the rich aroma of the coffee and a look of heavenly bliss crossed her face. "Oh my G.o.d, thank you." She took the cup and crossed the room to the counter.

Stewart sat on a folding chair beside David and Shaun, handing David a coffee and Shaun a bottle of orange juice. "So, I heard y'all flew into Majors Field a couple days ago in a helicopter? Where'd you get a chopper?"

"Before all this started I was a pilot for channel IBC4 News. I borrowed the helicopter when all h.e.l.l broke loose." David blew on his coffee and took a sip. "Anyway, for all the time we've been here we might as well be invisible. Before now, no one's said a word to us since we arrived except to offer us food and treat our wounds. So, enlighten us." David smiled. "What else have you heard?"

"Well, the powers that be aren't too happy y'all were able to fly into the airport like you did."

"What do you mean? There weren't even any landing lights for Christ's sake. We had no idea if anyone was even here. Them being p.i.s.sed about us flying in is a little inane. It's not like there's a mad rush on H-Systems."

Stew nodded in agreement. "It's defying the lockdown that has them p.i.s.sed."

"Well, I don't know about the rest of the state, but I can tell you the infection is raging from Arlington to here. I hadn't heard a G.o.dd.a.m.n newscast since the last one I was a part of almost a lifetime ago. Besides, I don't know what difference traveling from one quarantined county to the next makes."

Dejah approached with her cup in hand.

"Fact of the matter is, now that you're here," Stew said. "I think they're trying to figure out what to do with you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dejah's voice cracked, tension showing on her face. "I don't need them to do anything with me. I'm here to find my daughter. To be blunt, I don't give a d.a.m.n about anything else. We appreciate the hospitality, but this is just a temporary stop for me." Dejah looked him in the eye. "I won't stop until I find my girl."

Stew regarded her with a mixture of compa.s.sion and resignation. "I doubt they'll allow you off the premises. Town of Greenville's gone insane, just like you've seen elsewhere. The only way through is with a military escort."

Dejah traded worried glances with David. Shaun screwed the cap onto his juice, and leaned forward. "We aren't asking for any escort. We just need to find Dejah's daughter. We'll take our chances out there. We've made it this far."

David gave the teenager a grim smile.

Stewart laughed at the boy's brashness. "Son, I'm afraid it's not that simple anymore. This place is run by the military now. It's not exactly a democracy."

Shaun frowned, and started to say something, but Dejah shook her head, and he snapped his mouth closed, brooding as he picked at the label on his juice bottle.

"Maybe there's a way for us to get to the hospital? My husband's parents live near there," Dejah said.

"There might be a way, but that hospital's overrun and can be dangerous. I can tell from the looks on your faces you won't be deterred, but in any event you'll have to wait until there's a trip going that way, and I don't know when that'll be. I'll keep my ears open, and let you know what I find out," Stew said, smiling. "In the meantime, I'm a.s.suming you've found the showers and are enjoying the cots, tuna sandwiches, and the rest of our country club amenities. Not sure why you'd want to run off and leave the lap of luxury." He laughed.

Dejah smiled. "Yes, someone did. Thank you for asking. And the cots are fine ... it's been so long since I we could sleep without fear of ... anything. But honestly, we've here for three days now and the boredom is driving me crazy. Not knowing about Selah - that's my daughter is too much to bear, anymore. But, other than that, everyone's taken good care of us."

David nodded. "It has been nice to sleep, and the local medical folks took good care of me. So, thanks. Thanks a bunch."

"Good. There's nothing to fear here. This place is a virtual fortress." Stewart stood. "I've got to go make some phone calls. Or try to anyway. Phone and Internet service is sketchy. I'll see y'all around. If you need anything, find me, I've been here for decades. Not much I don't know about this place."

They waved to him as he nodded and left the room. His polished black shoes clicked echoes through the corridor.

Dejah grabbed David's arm, nearly spilling his coffee. "They can't just keep us here, can they? I've got to find her, David. This is absolutely it - I've got to go. We're too close now to be stalled like this."

David held her hand. "Calm down. We don't know anything yet. Let's not jump to conclusions until we know something definitive."

"It's been three days!"

"I know. And I know this is killing you, but like Stewart said, this isn't a democracy anymore. We're under the authority of the military here. We have to go through the proper channels and hope we can learn some information."

"Hope?" Dejah snapped. "I'm not sitting around hoping for anything anymore. I've been hoping that Selah's okay for so long I just hurt inside. If they don't help us, David, I'm leaving. I'm not helpless. Shaun and I survived on our own - and now we have you." Her tone changed, indicating she wasn't sure if they had him or not, but the pleading look on her face told David she wanted him to leave with them. And not just because he could fly and was good with a rifle. Her tone said she was afraid he might want to stay here. "We do have you, don't we?"

"Of course you do."

"They're not going to lock us up are they?" Shaun asked.

David sighed. "Look, everyone just calm down, okay? Right now, we've got a place to sleep, warm food, and apparently free-run of the place - as far as this wing of the facility goes anyway. Now, that lady - what was her name, Mia? She gave me a memo with a list of activities, movies mostly, some organized games, opportunities to volunteer for work, things they're doing to keep people occupied while they're holed up here. And I know there's a lounge with a pool table - maybe we should check out that stuff until we can get a meeting with someone in charge. Dejah you have to concentrate on something else or you're going to go crazy. A crazy mama isn't any help to anyone - most importantly to Selah."

"When do you think we'll be able to talk with someone in charge?" Dejah was irritated.

"I don't know."

Shaun perked up at David's mention of the movies and activities. After a day of sleeping, and a day and a half of just sitting around, he was bored to tears. "Do you have that memo on you?"

David reached into his pocket, removed a folded square of paper, and handed it to Shaun. "Why don't you go check it out? I'll go for a walk with Dejah and see if we can't come up with something."

Shaun looked at Dejah for permission. She smiled. "Go have fun. Maybe you'll find some kids your age. Would be better than hanging out with us old people."

"You're not old," Shaun said.

"I feel like it, hon."

Shaun laughed. He exited through the double doors at the end of the room, referring to a small map of the buildings on the memo. David and Selah watched him go.

"It'll be good for him to go explore," Dejah said.

"It'd be good for you to not worry about him," David replied. "Care for a walk around? There was a courtyard not far from here. It's a little cold out, but it'll be nice to be outside without fear of being eaten by some G.o.dd.a.m.n zombie." David stood. He offered his hand to Dejah.

"Sure, lead the way." She took his hand. His touch energized her. His grip was strong but gentle. It made her feel safe. More than that. The way he held her hand - like he really wanted to hold her hand. Like he really wanted to touch her. The thought stirred her deep inside. She hadn't known that feeling for a very long time: to feel wanted. These past couple of days with David, not really talking, but just being with him gave her a new perspective on that part of her life she'd been missing for so long.