The Turned: A Horror Novella Page 5

  They were a mixed bunch, their number greatly diminished from the kamikaze ambush, but still workable. As well as the female soldier there was another National Guard Trooper, drinking from the priest as his colleague stood guard. The other infected were office types, farmhands, housewives, househusbands? Harry wasn’t sure, but he’d dealt with enough young men over the years as a Marine Instructor to see the potential in people, raw and untrained.

  Gunny Trautman was planning to form a wolf pack, with himself being the leader. He knew it wasn’t the loudest or the fiercest wolf that led the pack, it was the smartest. It was the wolf who watched the others, analysing strengths and weaknesses, planning its strategy as it saw who it had to bond with to strengthen its position, and who it had to banish. The wolf that commanded the pack had to have the respect of the others, not because they were scared, but because they knew having that wolf as leader would benefit them all.

  Gunny Trautman planned to be that wolf, because Gunny Trautman was different from the other wolves, different in one crucial way.

  Gunny Trautman was different because he’d gone and gotten himself infected on purpose.

  10

  Harry and Linda Trautman had moved to Brentwood three years before the virus hit, finally succeeding in their dream of going back to a simple life, right in the heart of America, in the sort of town where it was still the norm to run the Stars and Stripes up a flag pole on your front lawn in the morning.

  After fifty years of working and serving his country, paying taxes and risking his life, Gunny Trautman was all set for a new start. He and Linda had been as dedicated to each other as they were to their personal passions, Harry’s being the marines, and Linda’s the church.

  They were high school sweethearts who married at nineteen, the week before Harry had shipped out to Vietnam. Over the next three years Linda Trautman saw her husband a grand total of five times, each time having to watch him leave and go back to the war. When Harry came home for good he was a changed man, but the marriage stayed strong.

  If the start they had to their married life wasn’t challenging enough, a year after returning from Vietnam, Harry had to watch helpless as Linda came close to death during a stillbirth pregnancy, almost claiming her life as well as their daughter’s. Linda survived, but at the cost that they would no longer be able to have children.

  So, by the time they had even reached their mid-twenties, Harry and Linda had already endured more than most couples would face in their entire lives. Rather than feeling sorry for themselves, the Trautmans’ only grew stronger as they built a life together. As Harry steadily rose through the ranks, Linda devoted herself to the church, working tirelessly to help those in need of help.

  It was a combination that worked. Linda was a pacifist but knew how important serving their country was to Harry, and he in return could see how the church filled the unspoken void in Linda’s life, even though Harry had lost his faith along with the friends he’d left behind in the paddy fields.

  Gunny Trautman became a career marine, travelling the world as he served. In the first years after the war Linda went with him when possible, but once they had bought a house, settling off-base in San Diego, she ceased her travels to make them a home.

  Throughout his thirty years of service, Harry always felt blessed to have such a good sole as a partner, who would always be there to welcome him home. The last six years of his service were as a senior sniper instructor at the marine training base, so he was home every night for dinner, getting Harry ready for when he hung up his beloved uniform for good.

  When it came, Gunny Trautman took it in his stride, just like everything else. Harry knew he’d done enough, serving in other wars and skirmishes, satisfied he’d passed his knowledge on to the next generation of marines. Some who retired from the life couldn’t handle the change, but Harry knew it was all about preparation. Preparation was the secret to Gunny Trautman’s success.

  Prepare adequately for whatever, and the path ahead will be obstacle free. So, after his retirement party and a short holiday, Gunny Trautman settled into life as a middle-manager in the post office. He was done war fighting, and the seemingly mundane was just what Harry needed and, after a marriage fraught with worrying when he would be gone again, the choice was just as much to please Linda.

  She’d stuck by the marine as he had followed his passion, now he was going to support Linda as she upped her workload with the church. And the veteran wasn’t leaving it all behind. He judged on civilian shooting competitions, and was always on hand for any event to support those still in uniform.

  It was another twenty years of work and service, albeit of a different kind, and a time of enjoying life together for the Trautmans.

  Harry’s final gift to Linda was suggesting they move to where she had grown up, and longed to return, the pleasant town of Brentwood. He had two decent pensions they could live off, plus Linda’s, and they both felt healthy and young at heart for a new challenge. The moment Harry pulled up in the town he felt at home. Clean air, clean living and good people. They moved into their beautiful new home, with land, and settled into the next chapter of their lives.

  But Linda dying hadn’t been part of the plan. To think one of them wouldn’t be around, after all they had been through together, it just wasn’t part of Gunny’s meticulous preparations, and there was no warning.

  Harry had risen early as always on the day it happened, just over a year after the big move, going down to make his wife breakfast. When Linda didn’t appear he took up her eggs on a tray, joking as he entered the bedroom about her continued slumber, before the veteran realised there was a casualty on his watch. Although Linda wasn’t, because Harry could see his beloved had already passed.

  He laid the tray down and held her hand, shedding a tear for the first time since their daughter had left them, then he sat with Linda for a while. She looked at peace, and even though Gunny Trautman had stopped believing in a God long ago, he had always secretly believed his child was watching over them up in heaven. The smile on Linda’s face told him she was there too, finally with their little girl.

  He took it all in his stride, ensuring a fitting send-off for his soul mate. Once the funeral was over Gunny knew he had to keep going, for Linda’s sake. He quickly made a wide circle of friends in his new town, volunteering at the local veterans association, as well as coaching and judging at several shooting ranges. If that wasn’t enough, Harry also offered his services driving for local community charities.

  Within another year the ex-marine was constantly in demand, struggling to make time for himself, but Harry liked to keep busy.

  In the end it certainly wasn’t loneliness that made Harry decide to kill himself, but the prospect of where he knew he was certainly heading. Thirty years of giving his all to the marines was catching up on Gunny Trautman. His hips were seizing up, his knees always felt as if they were about to explode, and his whole body was racked with arthritis.

  Soon he would be the one in the back of the charity bus he was driving, singing or sleeping with the other old folks back there, slowly forgetting who they ever were. But Harry was a trier, so one day he hung around after wheeling one of the dementia ridden ladies back into the care home she lived in.

  He was pleasantly surprised at how many of the other residents seemed to have full collections of marbles, and most seemed to be having a good time. But then he saw the recreation room. It was full of white haired old-timers, sleeping in their seats or staring into space, some were in animated conversation, only with people who weren’t there.

  At least I gave it a try, Harry had thought to himself as he walked out.

  ‘Where you going, Gunny?’ called one of the more lucid residents. ‘We got bingo tonight.’

  Gunny smiled at the man, appreciating the offer. ‘Maybe next time.’

  The next day Harry saw his Doctor, finally admitting his mobility issues were getting the better of him. After the consultation the Doctor handed him not on
e but two walking sticks, explaining the importance of using both at all times until his double hip replacement.

  That did it.

  11

  Just like everything else in Gunny Trautman’s life, he organised his suicide with exacting precision. His will was written out, with instructions for whom would get what, mainly nieces and nephews, with several charities also on the list. The house was cleaned, Gunny knowing Linda wouldn’t want strangers to find a mess when they finally discovered his body. Once he was set, Harry donned his best Marine Dress Blues.

  He still got a tingle when he put them on. Just eyeing the Blues, with his medal ribbons loud and proud, put a smile on Harry’s face. And he always felt slightly smug that they were still a good fit.

  Next he ate a steak dinner and settled down to watch television, satisfied he would know when to do it. The SIG 9mm pistol was next to the TV remote, loaded with hollow point ammunition.

  Harry had intended to down a few a whiskeys, but he only got halfway through the first when he felt his hand going for the gun. Gunny Trautman didn’t fight it, he just tilted his head back as the barrel nestled under his chin. He began to take up pressure on the trigger, relaxed as could be, when something caught his ear.

  Harry tried to ignore it, but it happened again, something on the news about a virus spreading.

  ‘Goddammit,’ he had muttered, resting the gun at his side. ‘I was all set.’ He turned up the volume on the TV. ‘Let me just see what this is all about and then we can get on with it.’

  The first hour flew by, Harry’s curiosity peaked as he sat watching the news channels, all of them covering a virus pandemic that was sweeping across the US, turning people into savages.

  After another two hours Harry struggled up, refusing to use the sticks, which were still in his car, as he changed into sweat pants and his favourite flannel shirt. Once he had settled back down, Gunny Trautman stayed there all night.

  The next day Harry had listened patiently, waiting with his smartphone to his ear. Finally, a voice came on, making Harry smile.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘How you doin’, Tucker, you sorry excuse for a marine?’

  There was a roar of laughter at the remark. ‘Gunny Trautman, what in the hell do I owe this pleasure to?’

  ‘Nothing much, I was just wondering if one of you assholes are responsible for this cluster-fuck that’s rampaging across my country?’

  More roaring laughter, twice as loud. Harry and Tucker had joined the marines together, then fought alongside one another in Vietnam. After the war Harry had made the marines his career, and Tucker had joined the Central Intelligence Agency.

  ‘I’m retired, just like you, but I’m pretty sure those boys ain’t got a hand in this one.’

  ‘Are you gonna make me call it in?’

  ‘Call what in?’

  ‘Call in that thing we never mention. That thing when I carried you through three miles of jungle after you went and stepped on a NVA hornets’ nest and got us both shot.’

  More laughter, so loud a smiling Harry had to hold the phone away from his ear.

  ‘Well,’ Tucker started as he caught his breath, ‘it’s about time you pulled that ace out of your ass. You’ve had that hanging over me forever.’

  ‘Just keepin’ my powder dry, brother.’

  There was a long pause as Tucker went silent. Harry jumped as the landline phone next to him rang. He sighed, annoyed at the interruption.

  ‘Hold on a second while I get rid of whoever this is, Tucker.’

  ‘It’s me, dummy. I don’t trust these things. Turn off your cell and take out its battery, then go and put the whole lot in your underwear drawer.’

  ‘Seriously?’ Gunny asked as his other phone shrilled next to him.

  ‘Seriously. Answer the landline once you’re done.’

  As Harry had listened intently, scribbling notes on a pad, Tucker told him all he knew as Gunny Trautman fired off his questions he had written down.

  Was it man-made, developed in a lab somewhere?

  Tucker was almost certain it wasn’t.

  Did anyone have a cure?

  No.

  Were the infected actually turning into vampires?

  Yes and no. The virus either killed or turned you. If someone died they stayed dead. But if they survived the fever then they turned. The virus then controlled them, making people crave blood to feed and spread it.

  What about the reports Harry had seen on the web, of people becoming stronger and faster once turned?

  All true. The virus mutated the physical capabilities of its host. It wasn’t magic, just tapping into what was humanly possible in order to make the host a super-predator, and in doing so increasing its chances of spreading and catching its food source, human blood. It could even cure ailments.

  That last part had made Harry press the phone to his ear.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Once a host is turned the virus flushes that person’s system. Cancer, Parkinson’s, whatever. It kills it off within days, ensuring the host is fit enough to operate to feed and spread the virus.’

  ‘Bullshit!’

  ‘No bullshit, Gunny. And that’s not all. It cures the mechanical stuff, too. Worn cartilage, torn muscle fibres, it’ll even reverse arthritis.’

  Harry was about to utter another insult of disbelief as he heard a scream in the background, from Tucker’s end of the line.

  ‘What the hell was that?’

  ‘Nothin’ I can’t handle. My barricades are up and I’m packin’ some serious iron.’

  ‘For what?’

  Tucker boomed laughter again. ‘I don’t know what it’s like in sunny old Brentwood, but here in DC it’s a warzone. The infected are rampaging, driven crazy by their hunger. I’ve already dropped a couple this morning. But now it’s dark, and the ones who have fully turned are coming out to play.’

  Then Harry heard gunshots joining the screams. ‘But on the news they said it was being contained. They . . .’

  ‘Wake up, Gunny!’ Tucker bellowed down the phone. ‘Fake news! You should know better than anyone how well our government lies. It’s a hundred times worse than what you’re seeing on the TV. Martial Law’s been in since two days ago across all the major towns and cities. Have you seen anything about New Jersey on the TV?’

  Gunny Trautman’s gut had done a flip as he realised he hadn’t. ‘Nope.’

  ‘That’s because it’s gone, the infected have taken over. Soon it’ll be the entire East Coast. Where I am is gonna fall in the next couple of days.’

  Harry forgot all about his own problems as his marine brain kicked in. ‘I’ll get on the first flight I can.’

  ‘That’s what I love about you, Gunny,’ Tucker chuckled as another scream sounded in the background. ‘After all these years you’re still tryin’ to look out for me.’

  Harry sat forward, pressing the phone to his ear. ‘The ones who are turned . . . They only come out at night?’

  ‘It’s the virus, something to do with the UV light affecting their contaminated blood. Once fully turned the sun burns ’em up.’

  ‘Tucker, you need to haul ass!’

  ‘Bigger picture, marine.’ A crash of wood and glass sounded close by. ‘Hold on while I get that.’

  Harry listened in silence as he heard shouting and snarling, followed by three gunshots, so close that Harry jumped. He instinctively tucked his gun into his belt as he reached for his tablet to find a flight, shouting as he did so. ‘Tucker, Tucker!!!’

  ‘Sorry about that,’ Tucker had said when he came back on. ‘I got me a little project goin’ on.’

  ‘Tucker . . .’

  ‘The penny still hasn’t dropped, has it?’

  ‘What the fuck is wrong with you? What do you mean?’

  ‘We got a full moon here, and these fuckers’ are on a feeding frenzy, but I’m gonna make time for one more story for an old friend.’

  12

  Harry had assumed Tucker was
in shock. His old friend was in as much of a physical decline as himself, riddled through with the arthritis, and just as stubborn in believing it wasn’t there. But Tucker didn’t sound like he was losing it, on the contrary he seemed quite animated as he spoke.

  So Harry took the time to struggle out of his chair as he took the portable handset with him, slowly chucking a few essentials into a bag as he prepared to get going. If there wasn’t a flight to DC he could get on, then Harry was going to drive. His age and condition didn’t come into it.

  As far as Gunny Trautman was concerned he was back in the jungle with Tucker, and just like back then he was going to get them both to safety.

  ‘My buddy from the agency told me what happened.’ Tucker began his story as Harry packed a spare gun and as much ammo as he could find, balancing the phone between his shoulder and ear as he listened.

  ‘They’re trying to see if they can synthesise the virus. Trying to get all the good stuff out, the super-strength stuff, and leave the other gunk behind.’

  ‘To one of those assholes behind a desk that probably sounds like a brilliant idea,’ Harry answered, just trying to keep Tucker on the line.

  ‘Yep, sounds peachy. Anyways, they get this retired Delta Force guy in. He’s in his late fifties and terminal with leukaemia, volunteers to be the lab rat ’cause he ain’t got nothin’ to lose. Had to wheel him into the lab on a stretcher.’

  ‘You got some real nice friends.’

  ‘Yeah, they’d sell their own children if they thought they’d get a pay rise out of it. So they’ve got this guy, real player in his day, but now he’s toast, literally got days to live. Then they shoot him up with the virus.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Let me put it this way. You take an experienced war-fighter, a confirmed grade-A neck-snapper in his time, and you load up said neck-snapper with a wonder drug that’s going to cure all his ills, whilst at the same time give him enhanced abilities, and turn him into a blood sucking demon.’