by Edward Crae
Copyright © 2016 Edward Crae
Cover Art by Necropolis Digital Art (shawnecrapo.com)
www.edwardcrae.com
Twitter: @edwardcrae
Facebook.com/edwardcrae
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
DISCLAIMER:
All brand names mentioned within are the registered trademarks of their respective copyright holders. No infringement, endorsement, or detraction is intended.
This is a work of fiction, and any resemblances to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Place names are used respectfully and solely for the purposes of reference points for the story.
Animals were harmed in the making of this story. A guy’s gotta eat, right?
Chapter One
Grace adjusted the position of her head to get a clear view in the eyepiece of her new scope. Cliff had mounted a good long range rimfire scope to the rifle she had selected—a Ruger 10/22 like Toby’s—and had offered to teach her how to shoot. After about an hour or so of sighting it in, she and Cliff had climbed on top of the RV with the unloaded rifle, getting in some sighting practice.
“Now adjust the focus with the little ring after the eyepiece until the target looks clear,” Cliff said, laying beside her on the roof. “Hold your position while you do it,” he continued. “And then you want to adjust your zoom level to get a closer look.”
“Okay,” Grace said, turning the focus ring.
The speed limit sign came into focus, reading 40 MPH. She then adjusted the zoom, bringing the sign even closer. Someone had scrawled the words, “when cops are present” near the bottom of it. She grinned.
“Funny people around here,” she said.
“Yeah, I saw that,” Cliff said. “Now move to your left and notice how it goes out of focus again until you find something that’s within about the same range.
Grace pointed her rifle to the left, seeing everything along the secluded road. When she reached the other side, she saw Dan and Drew, poking around in the brush. They were in focus.
“I see Dan and Drew,” she said.
“Okay, don’t shoot ‘em,” Cliff said.
He grabbed the walkie-talkie, keying it and speaking, “Grace has you in her sights, guys. Watch yo’ ass.”
Dan moved to the center of the road, waving his arms and dancing a little jig. Grace chuckled. “What an ass.”
“You guys might wanna move,” Cliff said.
“Is she loaded?”
“Not yet, but from the look on her face, I bet she’s thinking about it.”
“Groovy. We’re heading into the woods to look for water.”
“Roger that,” Cliff said. “Be careful.”
Grace laid the rifle down, still looking off in their direction. “Do you think they’ll find anything?”
Cliff shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. It rained yesterday, so there might be some puddles.”
“Surely there’s a creek around somewhere.”
“Let’s hope so,” Cliff said.
Dan kicked at the underbrush, seeing the faint signs of gravel underneath. There was probably a small road here at some time in the past; maybe a driveway. It looked fairly recent, as the growth wasn’t very thick, and the gravel was still mostly clean.
“Let’s follow this,” he said. “There may be a cabin or something.”
“Right behind you,” Drew said.
The group had followed this particular road after turning off the highway. It looked fairly secluded, with nothing but thick woods on either side for miles. It seemed a perfect spot to stop and rest. After fleeing the camp, the group had driven for almost a whole day toward the south, creeping slowly through the backroads. It was the only way to be sure they wouldn’t run across Enoch’s men.
Still, there was no telling where Enoch’s main compound was located. Mike hadn’t said shit. For all they knew they were driving right toward it—maybe even walking right toward it at this point.
“I wonder why the rural areas didn’t get all the overgrowth like Columbus did.” Drew said.
“I don’t know. Grace said something about the black shit mixing with the air pollution and creating some kind of weird fertilizer.”
“Do you think she even knows what the hell she’s talking about?”
Dan shrugged. “She’s smarter than us, I guess,” he said. “Look who she’s latched on to, the only military guy among us.”
Drew grinned, singing, “Sheeee got jungle fever, heeee got jungle fever…”
Dan burst out in laughter, shaking his head as he remembered the tune. “I don’t think that’s how it goes,” he said. “But close enough I guess.”
“Look at this,” Drew said, stopping and kicking over a large piece of bark.
There was a small wooden sign underneath. It looked like it had been knocked over by the falling bark, possibly during a storm. It was slightly worn and faded, and carved with the words, “The Thompsons”. Dan grunted, looking farther down the lane. It was definitely a driveway, obviously belonging to the Thompson family.
“Let’s see if the Thompsons are home,” he said.
“I hope they have some fucking water or something,” Drew said. “We’re about out.”
“I’m about out of ammo, too,” Dan said. “But I highly doubt they have Blackout rounds.”
“Yeah, man,” Drew said. “You may just have to swap barrels and go back to .223.”
“Whatever,” Dan said, shrugging. “It works, too.”
“Hey guys!” came Toby’s voice from the road. “Wait up!”
Dan grinned as Toby sprinted toward them. He had on Bill’s cowboy hat, and carried his Ruger SR22 handgun up in the air like a cop pursuing a fleeing criminal.
“Careful with that gun, buddy,” Drew said. “You’ll shoot your eye out.”
Toby stopped, breathless, when he reached them. “You guys were going without me?”
“Well,” Dan said. “I thought you were still asleep like the rest of them.”
“Not me,” Toby replied. “I never sleep. I’m always ready to whoop some ass.”
Drew and Dan chuckled, and the three of them continued down the gravel path. Toby seemed cheerful, despite the fact that the camp had been burnt to cinders, and he occasionally broke into a skipping run. Dan could almost feel the boy’s enthusiasm flow through him like a cheery soul wash; rinsing away all the bullshit that had happened the last few days. He even felt like skipping himself.
And he did.
“Dude,” Drew said. “Enough with the Sesame Street shit.”
“What’s wrong with Sesame Street?” Dan asked.
“Well, for starters there’s that big ass bird.”
“His name is Big Bird,” Toby corrected him. “Not Big Ass Bird.”
“Alright, then,” Drew said, grinning. “How about that weirdo who lives in the garbage can?”
“Oscar? A hairy green guy that lives in a garbage can… Yeah, I guess that is kinda weird.”
Dan listened to their exchange with a smile. It was amazing to him how quickly the boy seemed to bounce back after shit went wrong. Even his mom’s death didn’t faze him as much as one would expect. But then, knowing Lena, he had likely been by himself most of the time anyway. Either way, he was a resilient kid.
The forest around them thickened as they neared the house. Though the path was already overgrown, the amount of visible gravel lessened to the point of non-existence. The only indication that the path continued on was the slight depression of two tire-worn trails leading into the woods.
�
��This place is freaky,” Toby said. “I bet the people who lived up there never left the house.”
“Probably not,” Dan said.
Drew pointed off to the right. “Hey look,” he said.
There, hidden in the weeds and underbrush was an old, rusted out car. It was unrecognizable, probably something from the early 1960s. There was no glass left, the body was pure rust, and a tree was even growing through the floor and out the windshield.
“That’s crazy,” Dan said. “What a waste of a classic car.”
“What is it?” Toby asked.
Dan shrugged. “Something classic. Who knows?”
“Dude,” Drew said. “Clearly, it’s a Ford.”
Toby scowled, not really understanding the reference. That much was obvious. Dan grinned, mussing up the boy’s hair. They continued their walk, growing slightly more apprehensive as the trail darkened with the ever-thickening forest. Ahead, they could see the remnants of a white picket fence, with a gate that hung on one hinge. The paint was mostly worn off, showing the partially rotted wood underneath.
As they approached the gate, a path of small river pebbles became visible, winding its way up a small hill toward what they guessed would be the house. The driveway ended in a small parking area that was overgrown and devoid of any vehicles.
“Looks like nobody’s home,” Dan said.
He opened the gate, letting it go quickly when it twisted and fell off its remaining hinge. He let it fall to the ground, looking to the others for opinions.
“Shall we?” he asked.
Drew and Toby shrugged.
Dan stepped onto the path and ascended up and around a giant, squat evergreen of some kind. The path went around it and up another slope that was reinforced with railroad ties. At the top, there stood an oddly out-of-place white stone Victorian house. Dan stopped and stared at it as the others caught up. The paint was worn in some places, showing the grayish-green stone underneath.
“Who paints that kind of stone?” Dan wondered out loud.
“It’s probably latex paint,” Toby said. “Maybe the stone leaked.”
Dan shot him a strange look. The kid was pretty astute when it came to the obvious.
“It’s ugly and looks like it doesn’t belong here,” Drew said.
As they neared the porch, Dan could see a corpse sitting in a rocking chair near the front door. It was mostly mummified, and leaned back in the chair with its mouth hanging open. It was a man, sitting casually on his porch when he died. There was a gray revolver on his lap, and an empty beer bottle on the end table beside him. Toby immediately went and snatched up the revolver.
He opened the cylinder and let the bullets slide out into his hand. “22 magnum,” he said. “Cool. I hope he has more bullets.”
Dan and Drew stepped onto the covered porch, peeking into the windows. It was dark inside, except for the light that came in from the back windows. There was no rotting smell as would be expected. Even the dead old man didn’t stink anymore.
“This might be a good place to chill for a while,” Dan suggested. “That is if Travis or Eric can get the RV up here.”
“I bet they could,” Drew said. “But let’s check the place out before that.”
Dan pounded on the door and pressed his ear against it to listen for any movement inside. He heard nothing, shrugged, and then pushed it open. The door creaked loudly, causing Dan to grit his teeth. The dusty air wafted out, but thankfully smelled rot-free. The only thing that he could smell, other than the dust, was the faint smell of creosote from the fireplace.
He stepped in, switching on his gun light. Dust floated through the air, giving him the impression that he was underwater. He scanned left and right, seeing nothing of concern, and then motioned for the others to follow.
“We’ll split up and check every room,” Dan said. “Drew, take the upstairs, and me and Toby will check down here.”
Drew nodded, and went to the stairway that was just beyond an archway to the right. To the left was a dining room, complete with a table, chairs, and a fancy chandelier that hung precariously. Another archway at the back led to the kitchen. The hallway directly in front of him went to the kitchen as well. On the floor near the table was a stack of randomly-sized boards; two by fours, small plywood panels, and other tidbits. Sitting on top was a box of nails and a couple of old hammers.
It appeared that revolver guy had plans for boarding up his house.
“You go left,” Dan said to Toby, noting the materials for future reference. “I’ll go straight.”
“Aye-aye Captain,” Toby said.
Dan walked slowly forward, using his rifle to push open a doorway to his right. It was a closet built underneath the stairs. He could hear Drew’s footsteps climbing up above him. The closet was empty, except for a coat rack with a single jacket hanging from it. It was shitty—an old man’s coat. He checked the pockets none-the-less, finding a glass bottle of nitroglycerin tablets. He pocketed them and closed the door.
The kitchen was large, with old cabinets with decrepit doors. Toby had already entered from the archway, and stood in the center, scanning the lower cabinets. Some of them were open, and the boy checked underneath the sink.
“It stinks under there,” he said, holding his nose and backing away.
Dan shined his light at the upper cabinets, seeing many cans and boxes on the shelves. He opened one, and smiled when he saw the numerous food items that were still present.
“It looks like we feast tonight,” he said.
In the cabinet near the refrigerator, Toby found a stash of liquor and wine. Dan’s eyes popped open and he grinned.
“What’s Gall—Galli--?”
“Galliano,” Dan said. “Black licorice flavored liqueur.”
“Yuck,” Toby said, opening another cabinet.
There were pots and pans, and empty glass bottles inside, along with a mouse trap with a dried up mouse carcass crushed underneath its copper bar. Dan opened the fridge, and then closed it immediately. The funk was too much for him to even get it open. He backed away, nearly gagging.
“Stinky?” Toby asked, grinning.
“A little. I wonder if Drew’s found anything.”
“I’ll check the living room by the stairs,” Toby said. “Go ahead and join him.”
Toby went into the other room. Dan followed him and then mounted the stairs. He could hear Drew shuffling around up there, whistling and humming some tune to himself.
“You find anything?” Dan called out when he reached the top.
“Not shit,” Drew said. “It’s pretty empty.”
Drew came out of a room, carrying a shotgun. “Just this,” he said. “Twenty gauge. No shells though.”
“They’re probably downstairs,” Dan suggested. “Toby will find them.”
“Come here a second,” Drew said, going into a room across the hall.
Dan followed him in, and was shocked to see that the room was full of foliage that had grown into the window. Vines completely covered the walls, fed sunlight through a gaping hole in the ceiling that went all the way through to the roof.
“Jesus,” Dan said. “We’ll just stay out of here I guess.”
“There’s a bathroom up here, too,” Drew said. “With roots growing out of the toilet.”
“Well that’s fucked up,” Dan replied. “I don’t need to see that.”
Drew stopped, slinging his rifle over his shoulder and putting his hands on his hips. “Everything looks okay,” he said. “I guess we can let everyone know we have a flop for the night.”
Dan nodded. It would be good to have a nice dry place to sleep other than the RV. He looked outside at the cloudy sky, knowing that a storm was coming soon. They should be safe here.
“Alright,” he said. “Let’s go.”
Toby was in the kitchen, sitting on the counter eating a jar of peanut butter with a spoon. He grinned when Dan and Drew returned, freezing in position with his spoon near his mouth.
; “Hungry?” Dan asked.
Toby nodded, mumbling something through his peanut butter plastered teeth.
“Let’s get back to the RV and tell the others,” Dan said. “And you might wanna grab some water so your mouth doesn’t shrivel up. That jar was unopened right?”
Toby nodded, plopping down to the kitchen floor. “It tastes good, too.”
“A growing boy needs his protein,” Drew said. “I could use a beer. This place oughta do for a night or two.”
They exited the house and took one last look around the property. There was a well with a hand pump near the side of the house, and even a windmill that rose up through the trees. A giant antenna sat mounted atop a tall pole on the other side, along with a small shed with a shiny new padlock on the door.
“I wonder what’s in there,” Drew said.
Dan grabbed a rusty pry bar that half-buried in the dirt, sticking it through the lock and twisting it until the latch broke off. He stepped back and opened the door, grinning as he saw not only a stash of moonshine, but a HAM radio setup complete with an array of car batteries.
“Man,” he said. “Max is gonna love this.”
“Shit,” Dan snorted. “Maybe Travis and Bill, too.”
“What is it?” Toby asked.
“It’s a radio,” Dan said. “The kind that weirdos and hobbyists use to communicate across the globe. There might actually be some people out there still trying to contact people. I bet Max could get it going and we can talk to some other people.”
“Cool,” Toby said. “As long as it isn’t the bad guys.”
Drew snickered. “To some, we probably are the bad guys.”
“I’m not a bad guy,” Toby said. “I only killed that one guy. Shot him right in the noggin.”
Drew grinned but shot Dan a funny look. Dan supposed it was amusing hearing the kid brag about it, but as long as it didn’t bother him too much, that was okay. Mason deserved a bullet in the head, and Dan was proud of Toby for providing that assface with such a needed cranial accessory.
Dan closed the doors, hanging the busted lock back on its hasp. “Okay,” he said. “Enough of this shit. Let’s get the guys and gals up here to safety.”
