Rabid Heart Page 6

  Doc looked at her with tired eyes. His lids dropped and when he spoke, he seemed drained. “I have to talk to you, Rhonda. I came by to give you some news.”

  Doc’s demeanor alarmed her. What had happened to Brad?

  Doc glanced over his shoulder before turning back to whisper to her. “The Colonel and Sarge and some soldiers came to see me before sunup. They roused me from bed and escorted me to the operating room.”

  Uh oh. Her blood pounded in her temples. If they had hurt one long hair on Brad’s head...

  “They asked me questions about your fiancé. I explained that I was evaluating Brad. Just taking pictures and notes. I hoped to rewire him or explore another avenue that might yield better results.” Doc looked over his shoulder again. “The Colonel ordered me to stop everything. Now I’m supposed to quietly terminate Brad and give his corpse to a disposal crew by noon. I’m keeping my promise to you... consulting you before doing a thing. I’m telling you this in case you want to put Brad down yourself. Sorry.”

  Rhonda bit her lip until she tasted blood. She looked across the chow hall. There was Dad, joking with his officers. How nice, the fucker laughed and fed his Marine mug without a care in the world.

  Chaplain Johnson walked by and whispered in Colonel Driscoll’s ear before he sat next to him. Dad scanned the chow hall and found Rhonda’s eyes. He frowned and shook his head, then returned his attention to men around him.

  Fucking schmuck.

  Her father had always begrudged Brad and their engagement. Bad enough he had already threatened to hurt Brad, but now, Dad planned to murder her fiancé behind her back.

  When he said Brad’s stay was temporary, he wasn’t kidding.

  No one’s disposing of Brad. Not while she breathed. Brad might be Cujo-fied, but he remained her fiancé. She’d be damned if she’d allow anyone to terminate him.

  Simmer. Just simmer.

  She held her breath and counted to ten. She admired her engagement ring and allowed her heart rate to slow. She looked to a large clock with a US Marine crest on its face. Damn. Was it almost 9:30? High noon was coming. She knew she needed to work quickly. Her window of opportunity was rapidly narrowing.

  She spoke evenly. “Doc. I’ll be slipping out the back door. Meet me in the hospital in 30 minutes.”

  “What exactly are you thinking? Putting him down?” Doc acted agitated. “If it’s something else, I don’t need to tell you that we’re under constant military watch here, and no one’s going to let either of us off the hook if you do something stupid with Cujo-Brad. You can’t save him unless you can sweet talk the Colonel, and he doesn’t strike me as a man who listens to anyone.”

  Rhonda licked blood from her lip. “Just meet me in that goddamn hospital.”

  Chapter Nine

  Rhonda hustled through the kitchen and made haste toward the underground storeroom. Opening the storeroom door, she hurriedly flicked on half a dozen light switches before jumping to the bottom of the stairs. Taking a quick visual inventory, she pulled two empty banana boxes from the floor. She filled the first box with nearby provisions; deli meats, coffee, various canned soups, rice and beans, sugar, bread and peanut butter, and several mega-bars of milk chocolate. She entered a frosty fridge and grabbed a case of Heineken along with several cans of Diet Coke and a fifth of Jack Daniels, and placed them in the other box.

  She carried the stacked boxes upstairs and out of the storeroom. Good thing she had stuck to some kind of workout routine. No way she’d ever be able to lug all this food and drink in one run otherwise.

  Rhonda breathed hard. Sweat ran from her pits to her ankles. She safety-checked the hallway and fast walked to the back door. Exiting, she stashed her boxes near a dumpster and moved on.

  She jogged to her barracks, grabbed a duffel bag and filled it with her meager belongings. From the barracks, she made for a military garage wedged between two maintenance buildings.

  There sat Fort Rocky’s fleet of Humvees, parked in five neat rows of three on a parking pad beside the garage. She could see .50-Cal machine guns and MK-19 Automatic Grenade Launchers, paired together atop of each Humvee. She knew every heavy weapon came armed and max-loaded with ammunition; a mandatory rule. She hoped the Humvees held full tanks of gas.

  Rhonda memorized a six-digit number painted on the hood of the first Humvee in the front row: #006969.

  She slowed her pace and neared the garage. Okay, just act casual. Someone had left the large overhead door of the garage wide open. “Hello?” Rhonda yelled inside but no one answered. Was everyone still at breakfast? She hoped so.

  Rhonda entered and walked to the mechanics’ office. Sure enough, there she found a small locker bolted to a wall. She opened it and grabbed a set of Humvee keys with a laminated tag printed with numbers: 006969.

  With a growing sense of urgency, Rhonda performed a dummy-check around the office and garage. God forbid she missed something important. She found nothing of interest and slipped outside to the parking pad.

  The Humvee started right up. Rhonda checked the gas gauge and adjusted the mirrors and seat to suit her. She noted a two-way radio, and a car stereo built into the dash. Out of habit, she turned the radio on, and as expected, found no active radio stations. She pushed the CD button and AC/DC hammered out, For Those About To Rock, We Salute You. This put a smile on her face. She silently thanked the unknown Marine who’d left the CD. Thanks to the rock gods, she wasn’t stuck with a Disney soundtrack or something worse.

  Rhonda drove behind the chow hall and loaded the boxes of provisions into the Humvee. Next stop, Fort Rocky Hospital.

  She expected to raise eyebrows. Shit, she never drove Humvees anywhere except for around the inside of the base to pick up and drop off people and supplies. Plus, no other vehicles were moving on base right now except for maybe a perimeter guard.

  She glanced at the clock on the dash. 10:15 already? An hour had somehow blown by. Damn it all, she had to get Brad before anyone else did.

  She parked in front of Camp Deadnut’s hospital and spotted many of her co-inhabitants in the distance. To her relief, no one seemed to be paying attention to her or the Humvee. Soldiers and civilian Deadnuts walked and talked amongst themselves, oblivious.

  Rhonda walked past the reception area and found Doc Brightmore on his way, leading Brad by his elbow toward the front door. Brad was back in his Cult T-shirt and black shorts. Doc must’ve changed him. Brad remained placidly gagged and cuffed.

  She looked straight into her fiancé’s dead eyes. His brows arched. Did he recognize her? She grabbed Brad’s arm gently and turned to Doc. “Did you have any trouble getting him dressed and cuffing him?”

  Doc shook his head. “No. I kept the handcuff keys you gave me and slipped them right on. Surprisingly enough, all he did was hiss. No problem. Every Cujo I’ve ever encountered has been highly aggressive. Brad’s amazingly docile, though I wouldn’t trust him right now without that gag.”

  “Yeah.” Rhonda thought about the bloody job Brad had done on Teddie Fitch. “Muzzles and safety first. Let’s hustle.”

  “What’s the plan?” Doc helped Rhonda walk Brad along with brisk steps.

  “I’ve got a Humvee. I’m going to get off base and get him away from here.”

  Doc looked alarmed. “You’ll never make it. The world’s crawling with Cujos. They’ll eat you alive. I’ve seen mobs of ’em roll trucks over just to get to folks inside. The odds of escaping on open terrain are very bad.”

  “I know. I’m really fucking nervous. And I’m out of my mind about what I’m pulling here.” An uneasy laugh slipped from her lips. “But I’ve handled plenty of Cujos in my time.”

  Doc Brightmore gave Rhonda a quizzical look. “You’ve had only months to fight Cujos—and you did so alongside other people with heavy weapons. You’re not Rambo. And I’m not your dad. So... go do whatever. I didn’t expect you to take the insane route when I gave you that head’s up about your dad’s plans for Brad. So if you don’t mind,
I’d just as soon play ignorant and not know you did this.”

  Rhonda walked Brad to the Humvee and buckled him into a backseat while Doc stood a few yards away looking around nervously. “Thanks, Doc. I really appreciate your help.” Rhonda walked up and pecked his cheek. “I hope you’re gonna be okay after I’m outta here.”

  “Me, too.” Doc smiled at Rhonda and maintained cover. “Be safe. For the love of God be safe... and maybe think about what you’re doing.”

  Rhonda shook her head. “I haven’t been thinking straight for half a year. You take care of yourself.”

  Doc nodded and Rhonda drove toward the front gate. She glanced in her rear-view mirror and watched Doc disappear behind a building.

  “Rrrrnnndaahh.”

  Rhonda’s gaze flicked to Brad’s face in her rear-view. He stared at her. “Yeah, baby. We’re getting the hell outta this place. Or die trying.”

  She drove around the complex until she reached a service road she knew led to the front gate. She put her .45 in her lap and fingered the trigger.

  Chapter Ten

  Rhonda slowed the Humvee some 50 feet before Camp Deadnut’s front gate—tall and super-reinforced like the rest of the high-impact, razor-wired security wall built to protect every square foot of the military base. No terrestrial vehicles and no one on foot, Cujo or otherwise, entered Camp Deadnut without clearance from soldiers who guarded this main entryway.

  On either side of the inner gate, Rhonda spotted sheet-metal guard shacks with small mountains of sandbags stacked in front of them. She also noted the pair of high guard towers on either side of the inner gate. In each tower a sniper-lookout stood watch.

  Before her, two identical soldiers with squarish, chiseled features in green MP helmets stood armed to their buzzed ears with automatic assault rifles. They gestured for her to halt with their raised palms. She stopped and gripped the steering wheel with nervous excitement. Damn, she needed to pee.

  To Rhonda’s right, a soldier in camo stood with his rifle slung over his field jacket. The twin soldier to her left approached, his gloved right hand gripped on his rifle. What the hell was she going to tell these guys? She found herself fresh out of bullshit.

  The soldier on her left tapped the glass on Rhonda’s driver’s side door. “Roll down your window.”

  “Morning.” Rhonda smiled. This situation seemed familiar, kind of like all the times the North Carolina State Troopers pulled her over. Lucky her, she’d escaped every speed stop with only warnings, thanks perhaps, to her gift of gab and pretty eyes. Now, she wasn’t sure she’d get away with anything. “How are ya?”

  “Fine.”

  Okay then.

  The soldier before her looked like pure business. Rhonda recognized his face but his name eluded her. Goddamn, she was terrible with names.

  “License and registration.” The soldier extended his hand through Rhonda’s open window.

  “What?”

  The soldier’s granite-cut face cracked as he guffawed. “Gotcha! Hey, do I look like a cop?”

  Rhonda jumped at his sudden change in attitude. Surprised, she felt her heart race and didn’t know what to say. The soldier looked at his partner and they both chortled. Rhonda swallowed and managed to produce a chuckle. “Good one.”

  “I kill myself sometimes.” He slapped the roof with a heavy hand. “Gotta have a sense of humor in these dark days. Know what I mean?”

  “I hear ya.”

  “Seriously, though, where the hell d’ya think you’re going?” His laughter died.

  Rhonda swallowed. “I’ve got orders to check the perimeter. Doing a full circle around Deadnut.”

  “Sarge didn’t say nothin’ about it.” The soldier pursed his lips and looked uncertain. “You got papers for this run?”

  “No.” Papers? What fucking papers? She tensed, struggling to untangle her vague memories of protocol. She grasped for something. What did Sarge call Dad? “This comes from the full-bird.”

  The soldier looked surprised. “The Colonel?”

  “You got it.”

  He looked troubled. “Kinda strange the full-bird wouldn’t send this through Sarge. Even stranger the Colonel would send a civvie to do this. Shit, even stranger you ain’t doing it in a tank.”

  “Guess they want the right woman for the job.” Rhonda flashed a bright smile. “No worries. I’m armed.”

  The soldier laughed and looked at his colleague. “Whaddya think, Cap?”

  The other soldier shrugged.

  The soldier nearest Rhonda returned her gaze before looking past her and into the backseat. Her heart went into overdrive.

  Oh shit.

  “Hey. Who the hell’s that?” The soldier pointed, no doubt surprised to find her ghost-pale passenger.

  “Him? Oh, just another Deadnut. He was ordered to assist me.”

  Here we go... just let it flow.

  “Hmmm. He don’t look too good.” The soldier furrowed his brow. “His eyes look zombified. Dead.”

  “No. No, no, no.” Rhonda generated a light laugh and tried to scrub the anxiety from her voice. Those freaking aviators. Where were they? Why hadn’t she asked Doc about the goddamn mirrored sunglasses? Did this soldier know about a certain Cujo-zombie dropped into Camp Deadnut yesterday?

  Her words gushed as she talked faster than she wanted to. “That’s Brad. He’s been up all night. That’s why he looks like shit. Ha! Look, he’s my boyfriend, okay? We do all kinds of drills together.”

  “Drills, huh?” He didn’t keep his eyes off Brad. “What kinda drill involves him chewing on that rubber ball nonstop?”

  “He’s got an oral fixation.” Rhonda blurted. Why did she have to say that? Oh, how she wanted to scream.

  “Lucky you.” The soldier stepped back from Rhonda’s door. He didn’t bat an eye. “I’m gonna call this in to Sarge. Not that I don’t trust you, but this ain’t procedure. Once I clear it, I’ll—”

  He stopped and looked at Rhonda. Had he read something on her face?

  To her surprise, the soldier’s scowl transformed into a friendly smile. “Wait a minute. You’re the Colonel’s daughter.”

  “Rrrrnnndaahh.” Brad moaned through his rubber sphere.

  “Yeah, Rhonda.” The soldier nodded and laughed. “You cut hair for the troops a few times.”

  “That’s me.” Rhonda smiled.

  Can I scream now? Maybe these guys hadn’t heard the news about her bringing a Cujo back to base? Please, please.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” The soldier straightened. “Name’s Fred. We’ll get ya right out. We gotta check for undead hostiles outside before we give you a clean break. When you come back, radio first so we can watch for ya from the towers. We’ll clear you in. Be goddamn careful out there, now. Those nasties’ll do things to you that hell couldn’t dream up.”

  “Yeah, I know it. I’m well-armed and ready to mow ’em down.”

  “Hold tight.” Soldier Fred slapped the Humvee’s roof and strolled back to his military partner.

  Rhonda watched them talk. They gestured and nodded before parting to separate guard towers, stopping at each tower to shout to the soldiers above.

  Her hands moistened. Nausea and increased nervousness washed over her. Time, precious time was running out. Surely, this charade would end here at the gate. If so, she figured they’d shoot first and ask questions later.

  Brad made new, uneasy noises behind her. Maybe he knew their luck had pushed too far. Rhonda turned to put a trembling hand on his knee. “Don’t worry, baby. We’re getting outta here. Even if I gotta jump that fucking wall.”

  Brad didn’t respond or blink. He just stared at her. If only she could be alone with him. A million miles from Camp Deadnut would be nice.

  Sudden gunfire from sniper towers startled her. She jumped in her seat and stared out the windshield. Soldier Fred ran to her while his MP partner, Soldier Cap, opened a slot in the gate to peer outside.

  Holy shit.

  Rhonda
watched Cujo arms punch through the open space at Soldier Cap’s face. Soldier Cap jumped and recoiled before he rammed his machine-gun barrel through the slot and unloaded his magazine.

  “We’re clearing the gate for ya.” Soldier Fred motioned toward the gate and the gunfire. He jacked a round into his rifle. “Our guys are sniping and Cap’s blasting. This is kinda fun, to be honest. We get pretty bored out here. Wasting these Necro-fucks is a nice distraction.”

  Rhonda hoped Soldier Fred and his trigger-happy pals remained unwise to the “Necro-fuck” in her backseat. Funny how only yesterday she’d been ready to waste every Cujo she saw, just like them. Now she sat here trying to save her undead fiancé. Boy, she sure turned into a hypocrite, quick—and a selfish one, too.

  “Give us a couple minutes. Once we signal, we’re gonna open the gate. You gotta fly out like hell-hounds are on your ass.” Soldier Fred puffed his chest out. “Run over anything in your way. Got that?”

  Rhonda nodded. “You don’t gotta tell me twice.”

  “One other piece of advice. I don’t recommend you and your boy getting out of this Humvee for any hanky-panky. We lost a pilot that way. Flyboy thought he’d have a quickie with a civvie while on patrol in a department store. They set their guns down, started going at it, and got torn apart.”

  “We’re staying in the vehicle, thanks. Just checking the perimeter for anything unusual.”

  “Yeahhh. Well, let’s hope your boy’s gagball stays put.” Soldier Fred raised his eyebrows and snickered. “Anyways, don’t forget to radio ahead so we can getcha back in clear.”

  “Thanks, Fred. I’ll do that.”

  Soldier Fred quick-saluted with his index finger and jogged to the gate to join his buddies. He shoved his own rifle through the gate slot and fired auto bursts. Rhonda shifted into drive and crept forward. She checked her rear-view mirror for trouble. A few faces looked her way, perhaps their attention momentarily caught by the gunfire. But they soon turned away, uninterested in activity at the gate.