The Inroad Chronicles (Book 1): Legion Seed

by Erickson, Brian

  Jim stared at her and shrugged. “Whatever, let’s just do it. This place gives me the creeps.”

  Donnie shot him another glare through the rearview mirror. “You’re such an asshole, dude.” He slammed the gear into Drive and punched the gas.

  When they had driven close enough to the creatures Jeremy opened fire on the ones eating the carcass. They stood up and turned around when they heard the sound of the engine, and the minigun zipped them in half. Blood sprayed back and freckled the fence posts. Upon hearing the noise, the ones traveling on the road looked over and began moving in with faces still frozen in the last painful moments of their lives.

  Donnie threw the gear into Park and jumped out. “Cover me.” He ran to the back, grabbed the hacksaw, and went over to the barbwire fence just as Jeremy drilled a couple trying to get through it.

  Without warning it got worse. They had made more noise than anticipated, and several of the undead that had already proceeded up the road had turned back. What started out as a few lurching corpses quickly started to look more like a pack.

  Laura stepped out on the running board and pointed up the road. “Donnie! Hurry!”

  Donnie looked up and quickly returned to the wire, cutting furiously. The metal screamed as the saw’s teeth bit into it, and the first wire gave way with a snappy twang. “Two to go!” Donnie glanced back with a tight smile. The muscles in his forearm felt like they would burst into flames, but he continued to saw, his hand now a blur. Some bullets whizzed past him as Jeremy unloaded on a few of the undead, separating skulls from jaws and cutting limbs off. It was at that moment that all of them noticed, for the first time, that the creatures did not die like people when dealt a terrible injury. In the heat of the moment, each of them subconsciously noted that the ones with head shots stayed down, and the ones with any other injury kept going without any sign of feeling pain.

  Two more came into view down the road in the opposite direction, and Donnie could see that from Jeremy’s vantage point he would not see them until it was too late.

  “Jeremy! We got ‘em on the right and left now.” Donnie continued cutting with sweat dripping off his nose.

  Jeremy shot one that dropped as its shoulder exploded, and without looking he swung the gun around to get the others. The one with the injured shoulder got back up and kept coming toward Donnie with a blood-filled snarl. More appeared down the road on both sides, and Jeremy got tunnel vision. His battlefield awareness dropped, and he kept shooting at the ones in front of him whether they were close enough to pose an immediate threat or not.

  Still cutting furiously, Donnie looked up and saw a stream of bodies thrashing or motionless on the ground. The road was strewn with rotten, black intestines and worse. Some of them had maggots already inside gnawing on unused, dead flesh as they tried to stand up on severed legs and ruptured torsos. The stench of old death immediately filled the air as soon as their insides opened up. Through the mess the one with the injured shoulder caught Donnie’s eye, and he noticed it had half a nose and a giant gash on its forehead down to the bone. Segments of its clothes that clung tenuously had been ripped off, completely soiled with dirt and blood.

  The second wire severed with a pop, and Donnie started on the last one. “Left!” He pointed at the injured one and looked back at Jeremy. “Left!” He stared at Jeremy whose face reminded him of zoned out college days after hours of TV. Donnie’s head swung back from Jeremy, and he saw two more close in behind the injured one. He looked at the SUV again and saw the others sitting inside, very still. What are they doin’? Help me! His mouth hung open as he stared back, still cutting as fast as his arm would go. Finally, he dropped the hacksaw and ran to the back of the SUV and threw the tailgate open furiously and grabbed the shotgun, just as a shot rang out.

  Meg had stepped out of the vehicle and was leaning over the hood, and she quickly pulled back the bolt on the rifle to load another round. As she slammed the bolt back and aimed, she saw the next one about to step on the remains of the creature she had just dropped. She watched nauseatingly as it set its foot down on the brains that had splattered on the asphalt. She put the sight over its forehead and steadied her breathing. Then let her finger slide down on the trigger as she exhaled half her breath and held it. She watched it walk and focused on its head bobbing in and out of the sight. She timed it, slowly squeezed, and jolted a little as the gun fired. She winced when she saw the back of its head explode into chunks, causing the creature’s legs to buckle as it toppled down, and its face smacked the road. She looked back and saw Donnie, still at the tailgate, staring at her with a wrinkled forehead. “Why are you looking at me like that? I said I didn’t like guns, not that I couldn’t shoot.”

  The rifle blasts had yanked Jeremy out of his trance. He turned the minigun to the left and finished off the ones in range with short, whining bursts of fire.

  Donnie grinned slightly and shook his head as he closed the tailgate. “Now I’ve seen everything.” He ran to the fence and finished cutting. When the wire snapped, he pulled all the remnants out of the way and drove the Humvee onto the road, rocking side to side as it cleared the ditch. Ahead, a few more walked toward them. Donnie punched the gas, and ran over a couple as Jeremy felled the rest with the minigun. They drove off and disappeared from the others’ view, dropping below the crest of a hill.

  Donnie let out a sigh, and pushed himself back into his seat. “Jeremy, you got tunnel vision back there. If Meg hadn’t saved me…” He shook his head. “Just try and concentrate on the whole situation, okay?”

  Jeremy nodded and dropped his head. “Sorry about that, it won’t happen again. I’m still gettin’ used to this whole real-life thing. It’s a lot harder than playing Shooters.”

  Donnie nodded and focused on the road.

  The sun set hard on their heels as they drove toward the unknown to escape everything left behind.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Now, you stay down no matter what, got it?” Ron instructed Ann as she sat on the floor in the bedroom closet, putting as many walls as possible between her and the front door. “Get in there, Cassius.” Ron led the dog inside by his collar and pushed him down to sit beside Ann. Ron stood up and started to close the door, and he peeked through the crack for one last look at Ann as she curled up in a little ball and pulled Cassius down with her. “Don’t worry, I’ll be right back.” He winked and smiled.

  Just as the door was shutting Ann looked up. “I’m gonna hold you to that.” She looked at Cassius who looked back at her. The wrinkles on his face seemed to form a frown. “Don’t worry boy.” She patted him on the head and curled up tighter and covered her head with her arms.

  Ron walked into the supply room ignoring the constant pounding against the door and put on his body armor, a tactical helmet, and some sturdy, yellow tinted glasses able to deflect small shrapnel. He sucked in a few deep breaths through his nose and checked the M32’s ammo then slung it across his chest and set his Tavor on a side table by the rear wall. He grabbed a bag, threw in his other guns, and dumped his ammo drawers into it. He also set that down by the Tavor next to another bag containing survival gear such as food, water, cooking equipment, sleeping bags, and a tent. He strapped a large survival knife to his hip and tied it onto his thigh then pulled out his Glock from the holster on his right hip and checked the clip then slid it back into its holster.

  “Here we go.” He took a deep breath and walked over to the door, and he touched his ear to it and listened. Aside from the strikes to the door, he could hear light scratches through the thick metal, which he knew probably made them loud enough on the other side to send chills down his spine. Ron slammed his palm into it a couple times and listened again. The groaning, scratching, and striking on the barrier intensified, and Ron knew it was time to set his plan into motion. He reached down and placed his hand on the handle that released the bolt. He took several more deep breaths and focused his concentration to a single line of thought—kill. Veins popped out on his f
orehead, as his body heat rose, until a drop of sweat dripped off his nose and landed on his boot. Then he pulled it.

  The second the door bolt released Ron ran back to the bedroom door, ducked inside and closed it until just enough of a crack remained for him to stick half his body out to shoot. He aimed the M32 with one arm and waited until the creatures completely pushed the door open. As they did, the pressure gave on a seething mass so thick that some of their limbs stuck out, dangling and writhing from bodies locked in a throng. Then it broke and they trickled in one by one until the mob gained more fluidity, giving them room to walk in.

  Ron aimed for the pack’s center and waited until the entryway completely filled with bodies. Sweat rolled down his forehead and into his eyes, but he pushed the stinging out of his mind and squeezed the trigger. The second the round left the barrel he ducked inside the room, slammed the door shut, and jumped behind the bed. A part of him wanted to stay at the door and witness the explosion, but the concussive force threw the door open and pushed him into the wall. It took him a second to regroup and shake off the shock before he made it back to the door and peered through with one eye darting back and forth. What he saw matched his expectations, but still stole his breath with a hiss. The thick walls and heavy door withstood the blast well, but not the decaying bodies. One single Hell Hound had coated the entryway with blood, and body parts littered the floor. Some of the heads, still intact, worked the jaws pointlessly, reminding him of decapitated snakes, and the explosion left behind torn up carcasses.

  Fresh fodder came moping down the steps, and Ron steeled himself to the task once more. So much blood and flesh caked the floor that this group started slipping and falling, some completely and others to one knee, but, whether crawling through a puddle of blood or walking, they kept coming. Ron waited again, half covered by the door, until they filled the front of the room, and he squeezed the trigger. This time he placed the round just beyond the smaller group, outside the bunker door against the wall, in order to affect the stairs more than the previous shot had. Another splatter effect occurred with which painted the walls with more blood and drove the mass back farther. Ron proceeded to the bunker’s entrance and blind fired another round upstairs and then dove into the corner as the explosion shook the walls. He shut his eyes as debris bounced around and a rotten arm ricocheted off the door and landed at his feet. The fingers flexed a few more times before the bloodstained hand tightened into a claw, and he knew the image would haunt him forever. He looked up the stairs and saw more raw carnage, worse than any nightmare, and he winced. Of all the blood caking the walls his eyes strangely zeroed in on a torn wallet draped casually over the edge of a step, the only part left that looked human. He stared at the top of the steps for a few seconds and, when nothing stirred, ran back inside. Checking the monitor, he saw a couple more walking through the yard toward the house. “Damn!”

  Ron strapped the M32 over his chest, grabbed the Tavor and ran back over to the bottom of the steps. He peered through the night vision scope, and one of them appeared in his sight, peering down at him. It put the image in Ron's head of a ghoul on a hill, descending into Ron’s infernal pit. Before it could get down two steps, he placed the red dot over its head and silenced the twisted remnants of its brain forever.

  He ran back into the bedroom and threw the closet door open where Ann and Cassius hid. “Time to go, now!”

  They ran to the bags, and Ann threw the smaller one on her back using the large handles as shoulder straps. They each grabbed one end of the larger bag and made for the exit. Cassius followed, occasionally barking and growling as he clipped along.

  Ron peered back up the steps through the ethereal, green wash of the Tavor’s scope. After staring for a few hurried seconds, he turned toward Ann. “Okay, the coast looks clear. We’re just going up the steps and then stopping, so I can have a look around. We have to stay close together, no wandering off, and try not to slip.”

  “Don’t worry about that.” She looked at the gore decorating the walls and floor, and held her hand up to her mouth as her cheeks puffed out. “Oh gross!”

  “No time for that, Ann, here take this.” Ron extended the Glock to her, handle first, and slid it into her trembling fingers. “Just point and shoot. It’s easy.”

  “I don’t know how to use…”

  “Just take it.” He stared her down with a force in his voice that made her comply.

  “Keep your finger off the trigger until you’re ready to fire. Come on. Let’s go.” Ron led them out the door, and she slowly followed holding the pistol as one would a banana.

  At the top of the steps, Ron scanned the living room and hallway with broad sweeps of the gun. “Ann, I’m pretty sure one’s in here somewhere. I saw two on the camera and dropped one. Stay right beside me.” He squeezed his eyes shut and listened then peered through the sight again. It was two wasn’t it? Had to have been. He turned his head with a start when a scrape came from the direction of the kitchen. He could see the entrance, but a wall blocked the rest of the room from his view. Ron slowly advanced toward the entryway with the scope up to his eye. The pools of blood on the floor registered black in the green wash. As he approached, he scanned down the hallway to his left, leading to the backdoor and saw nothing, and he turned back toward the kitchen. In one more step he could peak around the wall. He inched into the room and could almost see the back wall when Cassius barked off to his right. He looked over and saw two more undead standing in the front doorway swaying back and forth seemingly mocking balance. “Oh shit!” Before he could react, Cassius lunged at the closest one just inside the living room. “Cassius!” But Cassius charged into the fold without a care for his own safety, while Ron stared helplessly after him. Then a loud clatter to his left yanked Ron’s attention toward the back door where another one beat on the window, snarling and gnashing. Every time it slammed into the glass old blood and rotten flesh smudged the pane, gradually concealing its face, and then the glass splintered, and Ron knew in that instant that it would only take one more good strike and it would shatter.

  Staring wide eyed down the hall, his mind froze. Right or left? Then a clammy hand latched onto his face and forced the decision. In his dithering he had forgotten about the scraping sounds from the kitchen, and now the creature hidden within had his jaw locked in a firm grip and pulled his head toward its mouth. Ron could not see anything other than flaky skin and black teeth, ringed by gray lips, as he pushed against its chest with all his might and felt panic slithering in.

  ✹✹✹

  Down in the basement Jackson and Kathleen had mended their differences and started to form a plan once the necessity of getting out, with haste, had time to filter through Jackson’s depression.

  Jackson scratched his chin and studied Kathleen's face as she finished a sentence. “I would rather have enough food on hand to last awhile when we try to leave. I think we'll have enough to worry about without needin’ to find food straight away.”

  Kathleen had been massaging her temples for some time. “I see the logic, I do. I'm just wonderin’ if those things might go away if we wait.”

  “No sign of that, they haven't left yet. Why would that suddenly change?”

  “They might get distracted, hear something else.”

  Jackson held the back of his neck with one hand, “Possibly, yeah, it's a big gamble.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you want to sit here hoping a gamble pays off, or go with a plan we can control?”

  She thought about it and sighed. “You're right, control is better. Shit, I'm scared.”

  “Me too.”

  They hugged and held it, held it longer than usual and felt some tension ebb away.

  Minutes later they hovered over the table stuffing cartridges into magazines and carefully organized weapons and ammo. Jackson looked over at Kathleen and placed his hand on her shoulder. “Hey, I’m sorry I lost it before.”

  A cartridge popped into the magazine and Kathleen pau
sed. “I understand, just don’t do it again, okay? Stress is so hard for me right now as it is. I can’t handle you adding to it too. I really need to be able to lean on you right now.”

  Jackson nodded and squeezed her shoulder. “I know. It won’t happen again. That thing with the Langfords, I just wasn’t ready for that.”

  Kathleen exhaled and rested her head on his chest.

  Jackson kissed the crown of her head and held her for a few seconds. “You brought me out of it. The plan’s good and simple.”

  Kathleen looked up at him. “The best ones always are.”

  “Finish loading that ammo, I’m gonna get this table a little closer to the stairs.” Jackson grunted as he slid the table a few feet until the edge was a little over an arm’s length from the steps. “So you’ll stand there reloading guns and handing them to me.” He pointed at the table, and stood at the base of the steps. “And I’ll kneel here and pick ‘em off one at a time.” He let his hands fall to his sides. “Yeah, that’s it, short and simple.” Then he breathed a long sigh. “I hope there aren’t too many.”

  Kathleen looked up at him. “You can’t do anything about that, might as well clear it from your mind.”

  He shook his head and smiled. “I know. You’re right. It’s a helluva way to find out if you can shoot.”

  Kathleen raised her hand and started to speak.

  But Jackson rushed his words in first. “I know. You don’t have to say it, clear my mind.”

  Kathleen smiled as another cartridge snapped into a magazine.

  Jackson stared at her and sucked in a long breath. “You ready?” His eyes yearned for it to all be over, but he managed to pull his lips up slightly into a tight smile.

  “I guess so, ready as I’ll ever be.” She smiled back and extended her hand as Jackson took it and squeezed, and they embraced in a long, close hug. Each of them closed their eyes and rested their heads on each other’s shoulders. After a while they slowly parted and set to work again.