by Ward III, C.
“My God,” Kevin whispered in disbelief. “Motorheads…”
“Huh?” Stephan asked.
“Motorheads. People who are masterminds with engines and pretty much anything mechanical. Too bad. Would be nice to have a few on the good side,” he replied.
“Well, they are definitely not on the good side. This morning, while they were all passed out drunk, I tried sneaking out through a side door. A couple of them spotted me. Luckily, they were still too drunk and unbalanced. I was able to stick a screwdriver into one’s neck and groin-kick the other. I ran as fast as I could, not caring about the creatures outside until I was several blocks away and ran into a few around a corner. Then I had to reverse back toward the damn mall. After changing directions a few times, going through buildings, setting fire to one house as a diversion, I lost them and found this armored truck, which seemed sufficient. Sorry I screamed earlier. I thought you were the bikers.” She looked at Stephan and Kevin questioningly.
“Don’t worry about us hurting you. The offer’s open, if you want to tag along with us. We’ve been on the road awhile; we know what we’re doing. We had our own trouble toward the east, so we’re bypassing the entire area, we need to find some resupplies first, though. Starting to get a little hungry.”
“I could help you out with that. I have a pack full of canned food from a house I was running through earlier. The entire pantry was full! I couldn’t fit it all. I could show you were it was at,” Gaylen said helpfully.
“Yes, please!” Stephan said as her stomach growled loudly enough for all to hear.
They talked more, sharing stories and information about their experiences while eating cold SMEAT and beef stew. Kevin reached into his backpack to pull out the little HAM radio to scan the channels, hoping to hear anything.
“Good evening. This is Elizabeth Corrin bringing you today’s BBN global news report.
“We are sad to say that Chinese aid workers and Russian security forces in the western United States have met an unsustainable level of hostility, essentially crippling all medical-and supply-relief efforts, forcing Russian forces to reposition offshore. New operational bases are being occupied in southern California on San Clemente Island and San Juan Islands near Seattle, Washington. Officials have reported no deaths at this time, but several casualties are being treated en route to Russia and China.
“The World Health Organization and United Nations security council has filed emergency travel restrictions to and from the entire continent of North America, including Canada, the United States, and Mexico as well as all of Central America as far south as Panama, where government agencies are using any and all resources available to sustain a quarantine. Outbursts of violence and anarchy are being reported throughout the region.
“The world’s top scientists are working nonstop to identify the viral strain plaguing the Americas. The World Health Organization’s infectious-disease research project, right here in the Cambridge Primate facility, was breached last night. Several monkeys were released by animal rights activists. Cambridge insists that the primates where healthy but asks residents to immediately report any aggressive monkey sightings.
“On a positive note, Allied forces are reporting major victories in the Persian Gulf and northern African regions. EU forces hint that the military- and civil-service draft could come to an end as soon as next spring. BRICS forces are beginning to reposition for stability and reconstruction missions, as well as send reinforcements to the western United States and South America.
“Stay tuned for full coverage of tonight’s long-awaited football game between Barcelona and Manchester United. This is the game we’ve all been waiting for!”
Just after the sun came up, Victor and his boys, Raymond, members of the rescue team, the mayor, and Sheriff Bohner gathered around three idling vehicles to go over the plan for the day’s rescue mission. The concept of operation was simple: Raymond, in the front vehicle, would lead them to each of his neighbor’s houses, where they’d offer their relocation service, give them a couple of hours to pack up their essential belongings, and then come back after spreading the word about giving rides back to town.
They expected a full load on the way back, so only a selected few would go out on the day’s mission. After finalizing the plan, they gossiped for a bit about last night’s radio broadcast while drinking a pot of wild-berry tea. Just as they were about to load up, Stanly appeared out of nowhere, startling them.
Stanly stepped into the center of the group. “Victor, I know why you asked me to join you today. I will. I need to see what’s out there for my own.” Stan paused, looking around the group. “I know what you all think of me. I’m not blind to it. I believe that all life is precious, and most of you are willing to kill someone just for looking at you the wrong way. You all seem to think that I am ignorant to the big picture, but it is you who are oblivious.
“I’m not talking about our moral differences. It’s simple math. This community is bringing in more and more people, yet the population is steadily decreasing from malnourishment, poor hygiene, lack of medication for the elderly—hell, even the flu killed six people last month. You all don’t get it yet. This plague, this curse that is upon us, it’s an extinction-level event. If we don’t save every single person, humanity will perish. We heard the broadcast last night. Read between the lines. The infection has spread internationally.
“So, Victor, if I can help rescue just one child-producing family, I’ll go out there with you. I still refuse to exterminate the very life that we should be desperately trying to save. Mayor, when we get back, can we please revisit the idea of using the radio to broadcast instead of just listening? People need hope. They need to know we are here to help.”
The crowd around the councilman was silent. The mayor, humbled by the speech, only nodded at his request. Raymond rolled his eyes.
Victor put a hand on Stan’s shoulder. “Hop in my truck. I’ll brief you on the way there.”
Gaylen decided to stick with Kevin and Stephan until they reached US 127. They backtracked a couple of blocks to resupply at the stocked pantry Gaylen had found the day before. The home was well organized and tidy, except for a thick blanket of dust covering every surface.
“I don’t think Luda’s been home in a while.” Kevin pointed at the refrigerator to a homemade chalk sign proudly claiming this space to be “Luda’s Kitchen.”
Just as Gaylen had promised, the pantry still held plenty of food provisions. They dumped a few cans of SMEAT into their packs along with vegetables and crackers. After further inspection of the house, they found a pump-action defensive shotgun, a few boxes of 00 buckshot, and more pistol- and rifle ammo than they could carry. Stephan even found some clean clothes that fit. Quietly saying a quiet thank you to Luda, she discarded the filthy rags she had been wearing. It was shaping up to be a good day.
In good spirits, the three headed south to begin the ninety-degree offset they had previously planned. Along the way, Kevin and Stephan took turns walking point as they normally had. In the thick wooded areas, they walked in single-file line. When the vegetation opened up, they spread out into a large triangle-shaped wedge. Kevin explained they’d have better flank security in that formation. When they stopped often, or came across a unique area, Kevin and Stephan described to Gaylen what they were doing and why.
If Gaylen decided to head off on her own at the highway, she’d have a greater chance of survival knowing some basic patrolling skills. If she decided to stay with them all the way to Lake City, she’d be a greater asset instead of a risk. She caught on quick; Stephan and Kevin never had to tell her or explain a tactic twice. Even though she had never held a firearm in her life, Gaylen didn’t shy away from carrying the spare M4 Kevin had been carrying for weeks. When they ran into a small group of Grays a couple of days later, Gaylen didn’t hesitate to use it.
After nightly shelters had been secured, they’d share stories of their personal life. Stephan and Kevin had grown to re
spect and appreciate one another, but having a third member of the team to socialize with was uplifting.
At night, security watch was divided three ways instead of two. They were able to sleep longer shifts, which greatly improved morale, stress levels, muscle recovery, and general well-being.
As they approached US 127, a question lingered on all their minds. Just before noon, a long, flat line appeared through the vegetation. Kevin, on point, held up a flat hand, signaling for them to halt. As he knelt down, so did Gaylen and Stephan, all faced outwardly in direction; looking, smelling, listening. Kevin waved them forward.
“You know, when we escaped Detroit, my goal was to get to this spot right here, then break off from our group and head north to Camp Grayling. After what I’ve seen and been through, I think sticking together is the best option. Gaylen, you’re a strong, intelligent person, I do not doubt you’ll make it to wherever it is that you are going. But our offer still stands: we’d like you to stay with us,” Kevin said hopefully.
Stephan looked at her and nodded in agreement. “No peer pressure. You do what you need to do.”
“I’m not going to lie. I’ve always hated Michigan winters, and the next one coming upon us quick will be the worst ever,” she told them with her head slightly bowed. “I agree with you, Kevin. After watching you two work together and what you’ve taught me in just a few short days, sticking together is the best option. I think I was running away from life more than running toward someplace specific. If we get to Lake City and it’s anything like what I just left, I’m heading south. Deal?”
“Deal!” they all said together. Kevin reached for a handshake, but Stephan cut him off by giving Gaylen a quick hug.
For the rest of the day, they followed the highway north, using the steep embankment for cover while walking on the flat ground in the tall grass next to the tree line. They covered more distance than any other day so far.
The days were getting shorter as the sun began to set earlier. By late afternoon, they’d just made it to the Route 55 overpass, where they would start to head west again. Kevin suggested they shelter there, but Stephan pleaded for them to make the symbolic crossing of the highway, which would put them on their final leg of the journey. They crossed US 127—not over but under, using a drainage culvert to avoid detection from anyone who might be surveilling the major intersection.
On the other side, parked at the top of the exit ramp, Kevin spotted a woodland camouflage painted soft-top military HMMWV. Rational intellect and instinctive fear told him to not get suckered into the wide-open danger area, but curiosity told him to check it out.
“I shouldn’t, but I really want to see what’s inside that thing,” he told them.
“We just crawled through muck and slime to avoid being caught out in the open, and now you want to stroll right up there? Are you crazy? Come on, it’ll be dark soon. We don’t have time for this.”
He looked around for a moment. “Yeah… It is dangerous. Stay here. If anything happens, make your way to the first house you come to. We’ll link up there.”
Halfway up the embankment, he turned around to see Stephan and Gaylen right behind him. “What are you doing?”
“Not leaving your ass out in the wind. Hurry up, let’s go,” Stephan said with some sass.
As the three cautiously got closer, they noticed gobs of black smears and streaks of organic material covering the windshield and side panels of the vehicle. Pausing for a long moment and deciding what to do, Kevin told the girls to stay put. “Stephan, you cover me facing that way. Gaylen, you cover our rear facing that way.”
One slow step at a time, he carefully crept forward. He could see enough through the blood- and grime-covered windshield that the front two seats were empty. He began making his way around to the enclosed bed of the vehicle, which was covered with a tall green canvas. Each grinding step he took on the road gravel seemed to announce his presence, which apparently it did, because shots rang out from inside the HMMWV, piercing holes through the thin canvas top.
A couple of hours before dark, the rescue team returned to town with thirteen new people packed into the three vehicles, one of which was towing a trailer full of fresh produce and gardening- and woodworking tools. Only one family chose not to relocate, but they thanked them for the thoughtful offer.
The street was packed with people who were eagerly awaiting a debrief, including the mayor and sheriff and the rest of the city council. They shook hands, greeting the newcomers, then guided them toward the communal dinner and their new homes. Even though the crowd seemed genuinely interested in the newcomers, all eyes were on Stanly, who slowly shut the door to Victor’s red pickup truck, looked around sluggishly with an absentminded stare, and then walked away, toward his home, without a word.
The crowd slowly dispersed. Vehicles were returned to the shop for refuel and repairs, and gear and equipment were stowed away. Victor briefed the oncoming guard shift and then finally met up with the town council at the lakeside pavilion.
As he approached, Sheriff Bohner handed him a glass half-full of a light blue–tinted liquid. “I hate to admit it, but Crazy Chad makes a good gin.”
Victor took a sip, then swallowed the firewater with a grimace. “You call that good? I’m not sure what to call it.”
Sheriff Bohner reached for the glass, but Victor held tight.
“Maybe after a couple more sips it’ll be better,” he said with a wink. “All went as planned. We were able to relocate three households. One house was ransacked and full of dead, presumably murdered by bandits who left no one alive in sight. And one family refused to leave their third-generation family home. It was a nice home with lots of provisions; can’t say I blame them. But Stanly made a solid argument on behalf of the town.”
With the mention of the councilman, everyone sat up taller in their seats and leaned forward to hear better.
“We need to keep a close watch on him the next couple of days. He’s either had a ‘come to Jesus moment’ or has completely snapped. The man has a huge heart but a small brain. He means well, he really does. But…” Victor took a longer pull off the gin-filled glass before handing it back to Sheriff Bohner.
“But he almost got himself killed and froze up when a healthy-sized pack of Grays attacked us at the house of death. He was already in shock over the gruesome crime scene; then, at the same time, he watched us dispatch a dozen infected. He didn’t try to stop us, and he didn’t say a word. I think he was just in shock or in fear. Raymond was on the north side and let a monstrous late-stage Gray slip through, which charged right at Stanly. Stan just watched it rush right at him without moving an inch. Frozen stiff like a statue. I watched it unfold. Many of us watched it. As the creature coiled down, then lunged in the air toward ol’ Stan with a rancid mouthful of broken teeth and outstretched claws, Raymond splattered the creature’s infected, blackened brain all over the truck. It took us fifteen minutes to rinse the filth off.”
Victor motioned for the almost empty gin glass.
“If any of you are close friends with Stan, please check up on him tonight. Everyone handles traumatic events differently. He could probably use a friendly ear,” suggested Jessica.
Victor tilted the glass back, finishing off the gin. “Gin’s not that bad, I guess. Unless you all have anything else for me, I’m going home to rinse off and see what kind of trouble my kids got into today.”
As he sat the glass down on the long picnic table, a rapid series of shots rang out to the north of town. A second later, several more followed.
Luckily, Kevin was vertically challenged. If he’d been another four inches taller, he’d be lying dead on the payment next to the HMMWV with an empty cranium. The bullets ripped through the canvas-top cover just above his head, causing him to flatten to the ground and then quickly roll under the vehicle.
“Cease fire! Cease fire! I’m not here to hurt you!” Kevin yelled while drawing his pistol and aiming it straight up into the truck bed floor.
“I’m coming around. Don’t shoot.” Kevin rolled out from underneath the vehicle, keeping his pistol in hand. He slowly peeked around the back edge of the truck, seeing a lengthy pale man lying against a stack of MRE boxes, cocooned among a truck bed full of various equipment. Kevin looked over the sickly man. “Are you hurt? We have a trauma kit.” Kevin stepped closer to him, then bent around the HMMWV, waving the girls forward. “He’s hurt!” he said, just loud enough for them to hear.
“Yeah, I’m wounded. But your med bag won’t fix this,” the man said in a raspy voice while lifting his camouflaged sleeve, revealing a vicious bite wound that had already turned black with dark veins branching up his arm. “Happened last night, about five miles up the road.”
“You’re military?” Gaylen asked over her shoulder while still watching the overpass and highway.
“Yes, ma’am, Lieutenant Murphy, USAF. I stole a plane out of Africa, trying to escape this mess, only to land at the airstrip in Grayling, smack in the middle of it again.”
