Eschaton (The Scott Pfeiffer Story Book 1)

by Shane Woods

  “Good,” I stated, lowering my voice and moving in closer to be heard. “We’ve got two of the gang bangers from Old Northern, we’re dropping them off alive far up the river, and scouting things along the way. One’s hurt, both are very bad guys, but I don’t want to murder them, so we’re giving them a chance.”

  “Makes sense to me boss,” Rich assured. “I’ll get a kit ready and see you in the morning?”

  “Yes, you will,” I concurred. “Be up early. We load the guys up at 03:00, before anyone else is awake to see. This stays between us at the table. See you at a quarter till.”

  Rich departed and James passed by on his way to the stairwell, nodding, and had Willy Grey, Clara, and Frank in tow. Looks like he had his crew. Jennifer then approached with Gwen, having left her spot at the table with Shannon and Ashley.

  “Hey!” I said. “Wanna sit and finish eating here?”

  She didn’t, instead, she questioned, “I heard you guys talking about a boat trip tomorrow?”

  “Yeah, we’re going to go up river and do some scouting,” I lied, “see if anyone else has a camp on the water like us.”

  “But only three of you?” she persisted. “I don’t really like it. There’s room for more people on the boat, and it’s not safe out there.”

  “Less people, lower profile,” another lie, “and we should be safer in the water. Those fuckers don’t go anywhere near it.”

  “I could come,” she began, “if it’s safer.”

  “Not that safe though,” I admonished. “I’d rather only one of Gwen’s parents risked at a time.”

  She sat and we continued conversing, catching up a while longer until Tony left for bed, and Jennifer and Gwen departed soon after. I took that as my cue to clear my table and go down to sleep as well.

  THIRTY-ONE

  My little wind-up alarm clock went off promptly at 0200 hours. As usual, it took me little to wake up fully, and I was up and dressed in little time. I washed my face in the water basin wedged into the bathroom sink, brushed my teeth and left after kissing both Jennifer and Gwen as they lay sleeping.

  Promptly at 0245 we met near the boat and Tony and Dave and I led Rich to the spot the prisoners were kept.

  Both men were as they’d been left, Tony the last one having been on guard duty for them. They had both been fed and given water. Tyrone and “Mr. Always Faithful” were both tied, gagged and bags placed over their heads, and two of us at a time carried each of the men to the boat and placed them below decks, as far forward as possible and well hidden behind a pile of blankets and gear.

  We worked nearly without a word, but the noise clearly drew Fred’s attention, as he made his way across the south building rooftop to look down at us and wave.

  I returned the wave, and made my way onboard the boat, starting the engines to an idle as Rich and Dave cast away our moorings to the shore. It was all such quiet work, but even the low tone of the engine seemed to echo through the area like a child shouting in a cave.

  I kept the engine as low as I could, and we made maybe only a couple knots speed over the water at most, between the low power of an engine near idle, and the river pushing headlong against us. We did our best to maintain silence throughout the predawn hours, the constant rumble of the engine only occasionally broken by muted conversation.

  From time to time, we could make out the silhouette of an animal, or a man-shaped figure either on the banks, or further back into the neighborhood. Aside from these sightings, and us, there was not much more to be seen, just the long black tape ribbon of river stretched out through the area, lazily reflecting a near full moon as it passed through the ghost town of a once-thriving population.

  We agreed to untie our guests to allow them some food, water, and a restroom break once the sun was up. Didn’t want to let them out blindly if there was a chance of being watched by anyone we couldn’t see.

  The morning had passed lazily, surprisingly calm, as we wound our way slow and steady up the waterway. Dave and Rich had settled themselves into watch positions at the bow and stern of the boat, I kept steady on the wheel to guide us and provide a 360-degree watch. Still, barely a word had passed.

  ***

  Sometime just after dawn Rich spoke up from his position forward.

  “Hey!” he said in a harsh whisper. “Guys I’ve got a small group of them!”

  “Hold fire,” I ordered in return. “Let’s see what happens.”

  There was indeed about ten figures spread out haphazard on the banks of the river. They seemed to have found their way within the confines of the chain link surrounding the business, apparently not been given a reason to find their way out. Held back on this side only by a short concrete ledge.

  As we got closer in the boat, they began to take notice. Most were of the slower variety, and they would take notice, follow with their eyes and feet, but they would not drop into the water.

  This was more apparent with the few quicker infected that were present. A couple paced, right there against the edge of their water barrier, as if they were hyenas on the fence at a wildlife preserve. Grunts and chuffs coming from both, interspersed with low vocalizations, reminiscent of a drunk mumbling on the phone in the next room while you’re drunk yourself, trying to sleep on the couch. Distant and muddy, nothing but a string of vowels you’ll never quite grasp.

  A third member of the faster party was a bit further off, closer to the building in the center of their zoo pen. Once he took notice of us, he let his head fall back and shrieked to the heavens, then charged. All three of us audibly tensed up on our weapons.

  “Hold fire unless he hits the water!” I called in a low voice, “I don’t want the world to know we’re here.”

  The form flew through the streaks of breaking sunlight, highlighted by sunbeams here and there, the shirt to his service uniform flapping out behind him. His chest was streaked with blood and the skin of the freak glowed under the contrasted lighting, broken up by patchy tattoo work.

  Then, he just stopped. Okay, he didn’t just stop. It was a nearly comical display, if you stripped away the dark undertones of this world, that is. The monster broke into full stride about twenty yards from the water. But, once he got closer to it, he began a cartoon-like backpedal. As the freak dug its heels in, one of the shoes split and gave way. Having spent months on a likely rotten foot, it just gave up under the task at hand. This put the freak firmly on his ass, where he slid another yard or so and stopped just short enough to let its now bare foot hit the water.

  This set off a short string of those near-barks, grunts, and finally, once the freak found its feet again, a few coughs broke the mostly silent night. He quickly joined his buddies, pacing and vocalizing while shaking his now wet foot about like a dog that found a puddle.

  “I’ll be damned,” Dave muttered.

  “Yeah, freaks don’t like water then I guess,” Rich observed.

  “Makes sense why we don’t see many of them right around the compound,” I opined.

  “Compound?” Rich questioned, “I like that name. But, what do you mean?”

  “Only two, maybe two and a half sides they can approach us from,” I explained, “the bend of the river. It’s kind of securing us from them in the west and most of the north of our area.”

  This set off quiet talking about us having a good spot. Ideas were kicked around regarding making our dry moat into an actual moat. It was quickly decided that as good an idea as that was, it would be impractical to do. And we still had no idea if it was water in general, or a depth thing, or even residual mental conditioning from their previous life. You just simply don’t swim in the Cuyahoga River. The damned thing caught fire in the sixties, and I don’t personally know anyone who’s trusted that water since.

  The low chatter eventually wore away as we made our dreadful slow way up the lazily flowing river. We returned to silence as the warmth of a new day began to grow.

  The drawn-out quiet brought me to my thoughts. The loss of Melissa.
Jennifer and Gwen having to live the rest of their lives like this. No more chance of normalcy. No worries about grades, new school clothes, family holiday dinners.

  I wondered where my mother and father were, or if they were even okay.

  The sun had just started to break fully free of the horizon as the first tear fell unbidden from my cheek. No way was I letting the guys, let alone anyone else see this. I wiped my face and announced I was going to go below to let Tyrone have a chance at relieving himself and getting a little in his stomach.

  Removing my trusted Smith and Wesson from its holster, I went below. I had to walk at a crouch to begin with, and, now, the cabin was even more cramped. Piled high with supplies, and with a large hollow at the front for our two guests, there was no room to get comfortable on board.

  Tyrone was closest to me. Good. I found I was having a hard time looking at Johnny. So loyal that he was willing to be tortured and disfigured while retaining all obstinance even long after. We needed something good to shake this crew up enough to give us the advantage.

  I nudged Tyrone with my foot and he stirred.

  “Wake up, dude,” I spoke. “You got to piss? Hungry? Thirsty?”

  “Yeah man,” he started, then paused, “You been crying? Your eyes are red.”

  “Nah,” I stated. “Just stoned.”

  “Not quite the goody two-shoes after all,” he observed, chuckling, “but we already knew that, after what y’all did to him.”

  “Tell me his name I’ll let you up,” I suggested.

  “Nope.” He objected, “What’s it matter anyway?”

  “True. Very true. We’ll hopefully never see each other again anyway,” I concluded.

  I let Tyrone out of his bindings. I started warming up a can of Ravioli over a small camp stove for him while he took care of his business and took a seat adjacent to me with a bottle of water. Dave never left his side, the muzzle of Dave’s AK47 never straying from the man more than a few degrees. Enough coverage with the rifle to remind the man who’s in control here.

  Once Tyrone had eaten and been taken care of, he was returned, bound again, to the space reserved for the two of them.

  The other man got the same treatment, though Rich was the one who wordlessly watched over his every move while a can of green beans and corn was heated up.

  After he was brought back below deck, we each had our own small meal, in turns, and then returned to our posts.

  The rest of the morning passed with little to no excitement.

  THIRTY-TWO

  About midway through the day, we had our first sighting of anything truly interesting since the discovery of the freaks’ water phobia. Rich was the first to notice once again.

  “Hey, guys?” he asked, then, “I see smoke.”

  He pointed to a few smallish columns of smoke rising in the near horizon, barely visible against the blue sky.

  “What about it?” Dave asked. “We’ve been seeing smoke here and there all morning.”

  “This is different,” Rich replied. “Look.”

  “He’s right,” I concurred. “This is just thin grey smoke, and all I smell from it is wood.”

  “You thinking people?” Dave asked.

  “Yeah man, I am,” I agreed. “Keep your weapons ready, but don’t fire unless we get shot at first.”

  We all remained at the ready as we neared the area of the smoke’s origin. As we came around the bend of the river, there was a guard post positioned right in the outer elbow of the next bend, a couple hundred yards down from our current position.

  As we approached, the top of a man’s head became visible in the turret. It soon disappeared behind a cannon-like barrel of a Ma Deuce. That’s a fifty-caliber machine gun, if you didn’t know. It was nestled behind the armored protection of what appeared to be a turret salvaged from a military vehicle.

  “We’re not surrounded,” I began, “but we are definitely fuckin’ outgunned. Be real friendly now, guys. Lower your guns and don’t piss off the man with the machine gun. Please.”

  Dave and Rich both lowered their guns, as did I.

  I stood up fully from the driver’s seat and began a slow, friendly wave.

  “Rich,” I said under my breath, “Go below deck, gag both of them, and make sure their ties are secured.” Then, almost as an afterthought, “And bring up that bottle of whiskey and hold it up like you’re showing it off.”

  “Okay,” Rich complied, “sure thing.”

  Rich disappeared and I continued my wave as we slowly approached the guardian of this river section. Then the man in the turret also rose and waved back. From this distance I could make out long, dark hair, a shirtless body covered in tattoos depicting demons, skulls, and various metal bands. Everything below the guy’s neck appeared to be covered.

  Just then, Rich appeared back above deck, holding a bottle of Jack Daniels up on high as if he were showing off a trophy. To this, the man in the turret laughed, pointed at the bottle, and gave the sign of the horns.

  “So far so good,” I told my friends. “He look friendly enough to you two?”

  “That depends,” Rich spoke up. “Friendly by our old standards, or friendly to normal standards?”

  “Yeah, no shit,” I chuckled. “Let’s go with the former, and hope for the latter, eh?”

  “Just be careful,” Dave warned.

  The boat neared the little docking area by where the guy was situated.

  “What’s up dude?” I asked. “You cool?”

  “I’m alright!” the man called back. “Nice fuckin’ shirt, bro!”

  He pointed right to me, to which I looked down and realized I was wearing my Slayer shirt today.

  “Oh, thanks.” I laughed. Keep it friendly.

  The boat neared the dock, and we threw our ropes out to another man we hadn’t noticed until just then. He carried the same look, all black clothes, despite the summer heat. His hair was closely cropped, but he too was covered with a variety of ink.

  The man pulled our mooring ropes and wrapped them around the cleats on the dock to tie us in firmly. He stood up, and went to speak inaudibly to the first man, who motioned and said something in reply, to which the second guy departed up the flight of steps and out of sight.

  “He’s going to go get the boss man,” the first man explained. “That’s normal, man. He meets everyone who stops in.”

  “That’s cool man,” I ensured. “I’m Scott, this is Dave, and Rich.”

  He shook each of our hands in return and introduced himself.

  “I’m Jason,” he greeted. “Sorry for the gun in your face, can’t be too careful.”

  He pounded the inside of the turret he still occupied with aplomb.

  “Nah,” I began, “I understand, dude. What kind of guy is your boss man?”

  “Oh, he’s cool,” Jason stated confidently. “He’s a real reasonable dude truthfully.”

  “Nice,” I stated. “Hell of a setup you have here. This come from the military?”

  I was trying to pry and I think he knew it.

  “Yeah, we got some Marines here,” he replied with pride, “real cool dudes. They had some guys called Motor T that saved this off a wrecked truck so we could set it up down here.”

  “How many Marines you got here?” I asked, trying to be innocent, “How many people in general?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” he replied wryly. “Never took the time to count everybody.”

  As we chatted, a few men came down the stairway. A couple weren’t dressed as military, but the way they carried themselves, they had to have been.

  The man in the middle of the group was thicker, not fat but definitely heavier built than the others. He had a rounded, friendly face. An almost permanently jovial expression set, slightly rosy cheeks and he was already smiling upon making eye contact. He wore long black shorts, and a T-shirt displaying the local nu-metal band, Mushroomhead.

  “What’s up guys?” he exclaimed, almost too friendly in the way he carried h
imself.

  “Not much,” I said, smiling my best ‘pleased to meet you’ grin.

  “You all good?” he asked, his friendly tone and expression never changing, “Oh! Shit! Did you guys check them?”

  “For what?” Jason asked. ‘Clearly they’re armed, but they aren’t shooting, so I assume they’re cool for now.”

  “Yeah, good point dude,” the boss man replied. “You guys good? Like, you’re doing alright? You from around here?”

  “Yes, we are,” I informed him. “Uh, on both of those questions. I’m Scott, by the way, you?”

  “Mike. Mike Hashman,” he stated assuredly, shaking my outstretched hand, “but you can call me by either.”

  “Good to meet you, Mike,” I said in return. “Shall we?”

  He nodded and led us up the stairs, a few other guys, included the presumed military, in tow. I left Rich and Dave behind to watch over our supplies, and make sure our guests stayed undiscovered.

  “What brings you guys out this way?” Mike inquired.

  “We were scouting up the river a little way, curiosity, really,” I lied.

  “Cool, cool,” Mike replied. “Most of us that started here were on a bus going to a concert in Cleveland. The party buses? Shit was so fun!”

  “Nice,” I replied. “How many people you got here?”

  “Around sixty-five,” Mike stated, as we crested the top of the steps. “We started with like forty, some Marines showed up, other people coming down the river from Cleveland decided to stay.”

  I didn’t get the chance to reply before we reached the top. What lay before me was a relatively small gated community, a few more than a dozen houses, all similar, gathered around a large cul-de-sac of sorts. All houses were around three-quarters of the central area, with the riverside left open. We stood in a large patch of land facing the scene from the river side.

  Between us and the homes, was a small road that circled the central area, and connected in the center on the other side to provide a way in and out. The loop of the road made up another field of sorts, in which I could see people tending to various types of vegetables, melons, and various other things. A handful of cattle, sheep, pigs, and chickens actually freely roamed the grounds amid the people.