by M. D. Massey
Leaving the other entrance unlocked in case others who knew about this place had to use it in our absence, we left through the small escape tunnel, which wasn’t much more than a metal corrugated sewer culvert that had been welded to the walls of the shelter. It led a few feet over, then took a ninety degree turn up to another metal door that was bolted from the inside. I released the bolt and ever so slowly raised the door to scan our surroundings. Once I was certain that it was clear, I motioned Gabby to follow.
The tunnel exited inside the barn, which was mostly filled with farming equipment and other implements that I presumed were for harvesting grapes. This hatch was covered by an old crate that had been attached to the top of the door for concealment, which was why the punters hadn’t found it. I motioned for Gabby to wait, and then stalked over to a window to take a peek outside. I did the same at the two exit doors and a window on the opposite side. Bingo. I spotted a lookout near the wood line behind a low wall on the north side, probably waiting where he presumed we’d exit or return if we’d already split. I signaled Gabby to follow in silence, and we left via the exit most opposite to where he was staking the place out.
I weighed the pros and cons of taking him out, then dismissed the idea offhand as it would only bring unwanted attention to us. Instead I chose caution over valor and took us further out of his line of sight, and then in an easterly direction that paralleled the road. As we left the grounds, we avoided the vineyards for fear of startling birds that were sure to be there feasting on grapes that’d ripened on the vine.
That sucked, because I was looking forward to breakfasting on those grapes before we left. However, I didn’t want to risk tipping the sentry off and attracting a group of punters to our trail. My plan was to get to Canyon Lake today and then head north to find the settlement where Gabby had lost contact with her uncle, hopefully to find some proof that ‘thropes were in the Corridor. I’d need solid evidence in order to stir the folks back in the safe zone into action, and frankly I wasn’t looking forward to getting that proof. Not in the least bit.
We came in sight of Canyon Lake sometime after 1:00 in the afternoon, coming in from the west and following the contour of the lake around the north shore to reach the entrance to the supposedly abandoned settlement. I certainly trusted Sam’s word, but I had a hard time believing that an entire settlement could just vanish into thin air. Soon, however, I’d be able to see for myself.
As we approached the peninsula, I motioned to Gabby for caution and had her drop back several yards as she followed me. The point where the peninsula met the mainland was mostly bare of trees and large brush, and the settlers had wisely chosen the narrowest point at which to build a barricade out of old cars, metal shipping containers, tires filled with concrete, commercial trash receptacles, scrap metal, and pretty much anything solid enough to function as an emplacement and barricade. They also left a killing field of a good 150 feet in front of the wall, providing a clear line of fire for sentries. Put a few guards with rifles up there and it would be more than adequate to stop anyone foolish enough to approach the outpost with bad intentions.
The settlement itself had been a gamble from the start, and was the brainchild of a group of enterprising scavengers who wanted to create a waypoint closer to the Corridor for trade and rest. But despite their precautions, any settlement this close to the corridor was a risk, because the closer you got to the larger cities the greater the likelihood that you’d run into the undead. The larger cities were full of zombies, ghouls, and revenants, and I knew for a fact that several powerful nosferatu had staked out sizable chunks of the Corridor as their hunting grounds as well.
Even worse, there were punters who had worked out a sick symbiotic relationship with the nos-types in the Corridor. They provided them with slaves as tribute, and in return the nosferatu left them alone to scavenge their domain as they pleased. Most settlers back in the safe zones had no idea this sort of thing was going on, and honest folk who came into the Corridor to scavenge didn’t talk about it. What would be the point? People had a hard enough time living a normal life without having even more fears piled up on them. Besides, your average, everyday survivor wasn’t about to take a trip into the Outlands, so the fact that there were humans in league with Them stayed a sort of open secret among the hunters, caravaneers, and scavengers who haunted these parts.
One thing was always clear though: anyone who had settled within a few miles of the Corridor was probably working with Them and involved in the slave trade. That’s why I couldn’t understand why Gabby’s uncle would take a job way out here, instead of taking less risky work closer to the safe zones and settlements out west. Unless he was working with the punters, it didn’t add up. It was something else I’d need to talk with Gabby about once she was ready to open up a bit more.
Crossing the open area that approached the gate made me nervous, but it had to be done. I decided to keep the kid close to me so I could keep an eye on her. She’d be safer by my side than hiding out where those punters might find her. Although I expected she’d put up a good fight, there were folks who’d pay a high price for a pretty kid like her. Made me sick, but it was the fact of life after the Apocalypse.
As we cautiously approached the gate I could see it was wide open. I didn’t see anyone manning the walls, and didn’t hear any signs of sentries as we approached the gate. Once I reached the wall, I peeked around the gate to scope the place out. Nothing. No sign of people, at least not here close to the gate. Of course, the peninsula was fairly big, roughly a mile long and 1,000 feet across at its widest, so if there were survivors they could be hiding out somewhere further in. We proceeded with caution and kept our eyes peeled, my rifle at the ready and Gabby with her pistol in one hand and crossbow in the other. Good girl.
I led us around in a counterclockwise fashion, following the road to the old marina. The settlers had been using the old BBQ joint there as their headquarters, so that was where I was headed first. The old place had once been painted in bright colors that had faded away, and there was a general look of disuse and disrepair about the entire building. Not a sound could be heard from the building or the makeshift shanties and shacks surrounding it, and all I could hear was the gentle lapping of water on the shore, and the chirping cries of some grackles fighting over a dead fish on the docks.
I proceeded into the building, clearing rooms as I went with Gabby close at my back. I covered left and she covered right, moving through the building silently, stealthily, and pointlessly, because there was absolutely no one here. There were zero signs of life. It was exactly as Sam described; the entire settlement had simply vanished.
I decided to leave the puzzling over what happened here for later, and took the opportunity to search their kitchen for supplies and food. Gabby and I respectfully ransacked the place, moving as quickly as possible, and came up with some canned okra and tomatoes. Most everything else had spoiled, but it was still a good find. We packed what we could carry, gorged on what we couldn’t, and then we refilled our water bottles and moved out.
EIGHT
WAR
AS WE EXITED THE BUILDING, I looked out over the docks and noticed that there appeared to be some boats missing. Of course, there was no way to be sure how many boats had been here before the inhabitants did their disappearing act. However, there were five boats moored in the slips closest to shore, and curiously three slips were empty among them. Also, I noticed one lone boat docked way out on the last slips, as far from land as possible.
Something didn’t add up here. Fishing would have likely been responsible for a great deal of the protein in these people’s diets, so I would imagine they did a lot of net and trotline fishing. That would mean the occasional big haul. So, it made sense that anyone living here previously would have docked as close to shore as possible, to reduce the amount of work they’d have to do in bringing their catch up to shore. If that were so, then why were there empty slips among the boats close to shore? And why was there one
lone boat moored out at the end of the docks?
As I was ruminating on the possibility that the settlers didn’t leave by any overland route, Gabby spoke up. “You think these people left on boats.”
It was a statement, not a question. Prewar, I’d have thought this kid was the most observant eleven-year-old ever, but now her ability to draw conclusions from her surroundings was just evidence of how harsh and unforgiving the world was. Those who failed to catch the details, those who were sloppy, those who fell asleep at the wheel, died. So yeah, maybe this kid was exceptionally smart. But then again, she’d have to be to survive in a world like this.
I nodded. “Let’s head down there and see what we can see. Maybe there’s a clue as to what happened to all these people. So far, I’ve seen no signs of a struggle, and what’s more, no sign of any nonhumans, either.”
She squinted as her eyes cast back and forth across the docks. “Some of the undead look just like us. At least, that’s what La Araña told me.”
I looked at her sideways. “‘The Spider’—who’s that?”
“This old lady out in the sticks. She was a curandera, and my tío said she had magic that kept Them away.”
“She sounds spooky.”
Gabby gave me a smart-ass grin at that. “You mean big tough Scratch Sullivan is afraid of old ladies?” I thought it was good that she was loosening up a bit with me, because the last three weeks had obviously taken a toll on her. Without humor, you’d go crazy out here, and the last thing I needed was to be babysitting an eleven-year-old kid that snapped. I decided to play along.
“Well? Was she scary?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know what other people would think, but she really wasn’t all that scary to me. She always came across to me more like someone’s grandmother. She could heal people with herbs, turn a breech birth, stuff like that. My uncle looked up to her.”
“Sounds like a valuable person to know. Did she teach you any of that stuff?”
Gabby nodded enthusiastically. “Lots. Tío used to leave me with her, said I needed to learn what she knew so the knowledge could be passed on. She showed me which plants can help a fever, which are good for a headache or diarrhea—stuff like that.”
“I’d like to learn some of that from you, when we have time.”
She nodded. “It’s boring, but yeah—I can show you what she taught me.”
That made me think it was a good time to approach a touchy subject that I’d been avoiding since the day before. “Gabby, if we don’t find your uncle, I’d like to take you back to the settlements out West. There’s a safe zone, and I have friends there.”
She got a sour look on her face. “You’re just going to dump me off somewhere.”
I shook my head to the contrary. “Actually, I could use someone like you to help me out. It’s just that it’s not safe for someone your age to be out here all alone.”
Gabby leaned on the deck railing and looked out at the water for a few moments. “I get that. Honestly, I’ve never been so scared in my life since I had to split from that settlement after my tío went missing.” She looked over at me. “I guess I should tell you thanks for saving my butt.”
“Well, the feeling’s mutual.” I wiped my hands on my pants and smiled. “Alright, our Oprah moment is over. Let’s go check out the docks.”
The kid looked at me quizzically. “What the heck is an Oprah?”
We walked down to the docks with guns at the ready, and as I got to where the bulk of the boats were docked I could see some signs that things were left in a hurry. There were still some rotted fish in buckets on two of the boats, and the nets and lines on those boats had been left in disarray. No fisherman whose life depended on his gear would leave it looking like that. I motioned Gabby to wait while I checked out the boat at the end of the dock.
When I was about thirty feet from the last boat, I heard a gruff voice holler out a warning. “Alright, that’s close enough.” I stopped and dropped down behind some equipment. It wouldn’t offer me much in the way of hard cover, but at least if someone started shooting, I could dive under the dock from here before they got a bead on me.
I hollered back, “Are you one of the settlers who lives here, or a scavenger?”
“What’s it to you?”
“Nothing. I’m just trying to figure out what happened here.”
There was a long pause. “Why do you care?”
I didn’t want to spook this guy, and I needed answers. So, I figured I’d take a gamble. If this guy was going to shoot me and take my stuff, he’d have done it when I was walking down the dock. I stood up with my arms extended and my rifle hanging down by the one-point. “Look, I just want to talk. I’m a hunter out of the safe zone to the West, and I’m investigating reports I received that something weird went down here. Mostly I just need to know if whatever happened here can endanger the safe zones where I live.”
There was another long silence, and I could hear two voices whispering urgently with each other. Then, I heard a woman’s voice speak back at a conversational volume. “Come on over, and bring that girl with you. She looks hungry.”
Mollified, I motioned for Gabby to holster her weapon and follow, and then walked over to the boat. As I approached, an older man stood up from behind the gunwales holding a Savage law-enforcement sniper rifle chambered in .300 Win Mag, with the attached bipod legs still extended. I figured he’d had me in his sights from the time we’d entered the main area. The old guy had salt-and-pepper hair shaved down to stubble, and he looked like he’d spent a lot of time in the sun for most of his life. I saw a blurry old USMC tattoo on his shoulder that was revealed by the sweat-stained wife beater he was wearing. I also noticed that for an old guy, he was still in pretty good shape.
I kept my rifle pointed down and hanging by the sling and made eye contact with him as I drew close to the boat. “Thanks for not putting one in me.”
He gestured toward Gabby. “I didn’t want to leave the girl fatherless.” It made sense that because of my dark skin and hair he took me to be Gabby’s father. I decided I wouldn’t correct him. “Besides, you two don’t look to be the type to rob and kill innocent people. And you’re the first we’ve seen in a while.”
A moment later, a once-attractive woman in her sixties came out of the boat’s cabin, carrying two bowls filled with a clear broth that had chunks of white meat in it. She motioned us on the boat, handed a bowl to each of us, and then looked Gabby up and down. “Poor girl, you look half starved. If you want more, just let me know.”
I cleared my throat. “I appreciate you sharing what you have. I’m Scratch, and this is Gabby.”
I saw the old man’s eyes widen ever so slightly as I told them our names, and then his face went neutral again. The older woman spoke up. “I’m Margaret, and this is Bernie.” She smiled at Gabby, the way women do when their motherly instincts kick in. Gabby just nodded and tucked into her soup.
Bernie spoke up. “We haven’t seen a soul since those freaks came and took everyone, except a scavenger who came by about a week ago. You’re the first folk we’ve seen since that black fella blew through here. He wasn’t as thorough as you though—looked around for a bit, got spooked, and ran.”
I figured it was Sam they were referring to. “That was probably a friend of mine. He’s the one who told me that the settlers here went missing. If you don’t mind me asking, what in the hell happened here?”
The old man looked at me and set the rifle down as he collapsed on a sun-bleached bench cushion on the port side of the boat. “Sit down and enjoy your soup, and I’ll tell you what happened.”
I sat, and Gabby followed suit, enjoying her fish stew but listening intently to Bernie as he continued. “About a month ago is when it happened. I had one of the small fishing boats out on the lake, casting for crappie and striper, and Margaret was here on the boat. It was late, close to dark, and I couldn’t see much from where I was at. But sound carries
over this lake pretty well, and I could hear what was going on.”
Margaret spoke up. “They were herding the rest of the outpost up, like cattle. After I saw what was going on, I hid in the cabin under the floorboards.” She looked off where the shoreline met the docks. “They marched them all on boats, right over there, and took them. And no one fought back, not a single person. Not a shot was fired, not one.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m not following. Who exactly took them? Was it punters?”
Bernie shook his head fiercely. “No! It was Them—but this one that was in charge was like nothing I’ve even seen before. Margaret can tell you—from what I could see, it looked just like us.”
Margaret nodded her head in agreement. “I was watching what was going on, at least at first. There were two of those ugly vampires, the ones that look like something from an old silent film. But they were taking orders from a third one, and he was as normal as can be. He looked like, I don’t know—like an actor on television or something. And it was like he radiated a force that made you want to go to him. I can’t explain it. All I know is that when I looked at him I wanted to walk over and get in the boats with them, and when I felt that, that’s when I went and hid in the boat. It wasn’t so bad once I stopped looking at him. I hid until they were gone.”
I looked to Bernie. “Which way did they take them?”
He pointed southeast. “Other side of the dam. I stayed put though, so I can’t really say where they went after that.” He looked down at the deck beneath his feet. “If I’d have been back here, I could’ve put them down.” He patted the rifle on the bench at his side. “One hundred eighty grains of death coming at you 3,000 feet per second, I don’t care what hellhole you crawled out of, you’re going back.”
