“That’s your friend that the Zulus got?”
Shooter nodded. “We were escaping. Tried to take our bikes, and his wounds began to bleed. Like I said, I rode back for the car and by the time I got back…” he choked on his words. “It was too late.”
Hatcher sipped his coffee and nodded, believing him. “And you came to us.”
Shooter nodded. “Sinner wanted to bail. Hit the road. I convinced him that your people had resources. Maybe help him to get healed up good. Then if he still wanted to leave, we could split.” His voice was barely more than a whisper.
“How’d your buddy get hurt?”
Shooter took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “The night that Simon led the Ragers to your warehouse, somebody shot at the truck and Sinner caught one in the shoulder.” His jaw quivered as he spoke. “I never even knew his real name. Just the stupid nickname that Simon gave him.” He looked up at Hatcher. “He died because I left him behind. If I’d just stayed with him…”
“Then you’d both be dead.” Hatcher set the coffee down and gave him a solemn look. “You said he was bleeding out, right? You needed a car to transport him. There was little else you could do.”
Shooter shook his head. “If I’d waited…until he was healed better.” He took another deep breath and fought back the sobs. “I never had many friends, but he was as close as they came.”
“And you knew Trevor?”
Shooter gave him a surprised look. “I only knew people by the nicknames Simon gave them. We weren’t allowed to use our given names.”
Hatcher gave him a confused look. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
Shooter shrugged again. “It was all Simon. He couldn’t remember people’s real names but he could remember the nicknames he gave them.” He looked away again, his eyes focusing on the floor. “When he first scooped me up, he didn’t give me a name. I was just ‘you little fucker’ or some such. But after I left your warehouse, he started calling me Shooter.”
“Because you tried to kill him?”
Shooter shrugged again. “I guess.” He sighed heavily and cocked his head to the side. “Is Trevor Stinky?”
Hatcher gave him a questioning look. “He was pretty clean when I met him.” He leaned closer and gave him a questioning look. “He has a little girl with him. A Zulu.”
Shooter’s eyes widened. “He’s dragging a Rager around with him?”
Hatcher nodded. “A little girl. She actually listens to him. She’s…tame, for a lack of a better word.”
Shooter gave him a wide eyed stare. “Unless he found her after he left then I don’t….” He suddenly stopped and his mouth hung open.
“What?”
Shooter swallowed hard again. “Simon…he did something really…bad…a house with a family.” He shrugged again. “Maybe Stinky found the girl there.”
Hatcher decided not to pry. The man’s face had turned so pale that he felt it best to give him leeway. “Why come to us?”
Shooter shrugged again. “Where else is there to go? I mean, I wanted out. Until I got out.” He looked up again and gave him a sad smile. “It’s all gone, man. Like…nothing left.”
Hatcher nodded. “I’m sure it seems that way. But we are trying to rebuild here. Surely, somewhere else there are others.”
Shooter shrugged. “I only hope we can outlast the Ragers.”
Hatcher pushed up from the chair and gripped his coffee. “Yeah, me too.” He turned for the door just as Vicky appeared with a tray of food. “We’ll talk more later.”
Broussard tugged at the straps and cinched the MOLLE vest tighter. “Is this really necessary? We’ll be placed somewhere out of the way. I don’t see how bullet proof material will help us if—”
“SOP, doc. You want out there in the world, then you gear up.” The special operator supervising their readiness reached out and pulled the strap tighter. “Trust me, you can’t plan for every contingency, but the ones that we know are possible we ready ourselves for.”
“The infected do not use firearms.” He gave the man a flat stare.
“No, but if there are survivors out there? They could have weapons and you don’t want to take the chance that they’re a bad shot. Or a good one, if they’re hostile.” The operator turned and inspected Carol’s gear. “It’s a long ride in the chopper. We’ll stop to refuel along the way but we won’t be making any pit stops. If you need to take care of…anything, now’s the time.”
She shook her head. “I’m good to go.”
He checked her straps then gave her a thumbs up. “Load up.”
Broussard and Carol fell into step behind the black-clad men. She caught a glimpse of a sailor pulling the fill hose back and coiling it from the tanks strapped under the dual bladed helicopter. “Tanks are full?”
“That’s affirmative, ma’am.” The operator held the door for her while she climbed aboard. “We’ve been informed that if this is successful, we’re to move on to the next target area.”
She paused as he pulled the door shut. “You do realize that it will take some time to gather the infected to the site, right? They won’t come running, especially in daylight.”
“Understood ma’am. We’ll give your device a few hours to gather what Zeds we can. Once the cure is applied to them, we’re moving on. We’ll leave it to them to pass it along their ranks.”
She sighed and sat back, accepting the military’s solution. She knew that time was of the essence, especially if the treatment worked.
“We should have enough of the spray stuff onboard to hit three sites,” the operator said as he settled in. “With any luck, we’ll be back by sunset.”
Carol nodded and closed her eyes as the engines began to spool up and the blades spun faster overhead. “How safe are these things?”
The operator smiled at her. “Safer than swimming to shore, ma’am.”
She swallowed
