The End Time Saga (Book 5): The Holding

by Greene, Daniel

  “Sly’ll kill you,” she said. Her eyes were far away in a distant place.

  Ahmed trained a finger on her. “She’s not guilty by association.”

  Jim’s eyes lit up. “That’s exactly what she is.” He squeezed the trigger, the barrel against her head. The gun recoiled, metal sliding fluidly over metal. Fire erupted from the end and her head flew to the side and straight into the ground. She laid motionless, her mouth open a crack.

  Ahmed’s jaw dropped like the woman’s.

  “Dear God, Jimmy!” Lee turned away disgusted.

  The woman bled from her head wound, blood seeping out like she was a tipped over bottle of chocolate syrup. Ahmed blinked in the carnage. What have I done? Am I on the right side of this?

  “If it’s a war they want, it’s total war.” Jim spit on the woman. He gathered his horse’s reins in one hand and used the pommel to pull himself into the saddle.

  The other men stared at Jim. His horse nervously stamped the ground.

  “What?” he spat. He forcefully holstered his handgun.

  Lee’s face twisted in disgust. “If we’re going to kill somebody, let’s at least see if there is anything of value.”

  They went inside the filthy house. They threw food, ammunition, and guns into bags. Another young man lay dying on dirty carpet, bittersweet fluids from his side seeping into the floor.

  “Who are these people?” Ahmed asked Lee.

  Lee bent down slowly next to the young man. He picked up the shotgun next to him and placed it atop his shoulder, anger settling in his eyes. “Does it matter?” He glared down at the teenager bleeding out in disgust. The young man’s skin was visibly paling by the second as his lifeblood drained from his body.

  “I’d like to think we did the right thing.”

  “Killing is the right thing?”

  Ahmed shook his head, taking in the poor surroundings. “In this case, the Singletons were being murdered. They shouldn’t have to sit back while they are killed.”

  “And now we’ve murdered their brethren.” Lee cocked his head. “So is it their turn to murder us?”

  “The Singletons deserve justice as much as the next man. I saw those men execute Brad and Kyle.” His sense of justice was being shaken. Who was right and who was wrong?

  “These people ain’t Sly.”

  “Why didn’t you stop Jim?” Ahmed stepped closer to Lee.

  “Why didn’t you?”

  Ahmed opened his mouth for a moment then closed it. “I don’t know him. I’m not from here. I’m not a part of this.”

  Lee smirked. “But you are now.”

  TESS

  Camp Forge, IA

  Two long pontoon boats had arrived in the night from Burlington. They were basic water beasts, each one no more than a long flat platform overtop two large pontoons. They’d been used for Mississippi River tours before the outbreak.

  The top of each craft was open air, clearly made with summer sightseeing adventures in mind. The sides were made from a thick canvas and windows made of heavy clear plastic that could be rolled up or down as needed. Either way the trip would be freezing up the river and would only get worse the farther north they traveled.

  Twelve Sable Point Volunteers stood clustered together with filled backpacks and their assortment of firearms, but instead of looking like a fierce fighting team, they resembled a group of friends that were going on a ski trip. An additional small pontoon would carry them north, freeing up the two larger pontoons for the War Machines and Lieutenant Gunther’s full platoon of soldiers.

  Tess stuck her hands deeper into the pockets of her winter coat. The Sable Point Volunteers were handing their packs along a human chain and stacking their gear evenly on the small pontoon.

  Margie stood next to her. She wore a black trapper hat with gray rabbit fur insulation. The hat rose in the back where her hair bun poked out. Her breath fogged in front of her rosy cheeks.

  “It’s going to be even colder on the river,” Tess said.

  Margie eyed the pontoon then her eyes shifted across to the far bank. More dead lined the edge, waiting for any opportunity to cross. Faint moans carried over the water like ripples of a skipped rock.

  “I know.”

  Tess inspected their work. “You know why Steele is sending you in particular?”

  Margie’s eyes didn’t leave the other shore. “To make sure the soldiers don’t get out of hand.”

  “That’s why he’s sending the War Machines. He’s sending you because you have proven yourself to have sound judgment and you’re loyal. It’s not just the soldiers you’re going to be watching.”

  Her brown eyes searched Tess for an answer, and her voice dipped lower. “What do you mean?”

  Tess licked her dry cracked lips. She would have done anything for some lip balm. Her tongue scraped along the rough skin. This winter still wasn’t as bad as it would have been in Michigan. “I don’t mean anything.” She tongued her lips again, trying to scrub away the dry skin. “If you see anything weird, you have to get word back to me.”

  “How?”

  Snowflakes trickled down from the sky at a leisurely pace. Tess watched two War Machines carry an M2 Browning .50 caliber machine gun aboard the largest of the pontoons. War Child stood nearby watching his club load up.

  “Find a way. Get word to Heath. Send someone you trust and don’t be afraid to put one of these sons of bitches down. You’re going to be arming those soldiers.”

  “You’re telling me to watch the soldiers and watch the War Machines while we are supposed to be fighting the infected?” Margie shook her head in a worried manner.

  “Yes. I’m asking you to do all those things and something else.”

  Margie faced her full-on, her eyes irritated, but in a manner that made her look too worried to be taken seriously. “What?”

  “Stay alive. We’ve lost too many people. We need you and your team to come back.”

  A grim smile found its way onto Margie’s lips. “I’ll do my best.”

  Tess smiled back. “Stay alive.”

  The two women embraced, their coats scratching as they hugged. Tess squeezed her tight before releasing her.

  Tony approached, a hand-knitted woolen scarf wrapped around his neck and face. His glasses were fogged on top of his pink nose. He tugged the scarf off his face and below his chin. “We’re loaded up. Got enough extra fuel, bullets, and food to last us for a least a week until we reach Clinton.”

  With clear affection, Margie said, “Thank you. Hopefully we won’t need all of it. The other outposts should have something to spare.”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Can’t hurt to be prepared.”

  The general love and care between the two struck Tess like a flash of lightning. It warmed her insides for a moment, but the brief emotion faded to an aching pain. She’d had something like that once with Pagan. Now only bitterness filled her.

  A younger army officer spoke with War Child now. He wore ACUs and cupped his hands to stay warm.

  “I’m going to meet with them,” Margie said.

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to tag along.”

  The three Sable Pointers walked over to the largest pontoon crawling with bikers.

  War Child’s arms were folded over his leather-clad chest. “Why, Tess, it’s good to see you.” His voice sounded like someone pouring gravel from a bucket onto the ground.

  She gave him a slight nod. “War Child. Now you take good care of my people.”

  He smiled beneath his white beard. “You know I will.” War Child pointed a finger at the lieutenant. “Let me introduce you to Lieutenant Gunther.”

  “Ma’am,” Gunther said with a nod. He was a little over average height and wasn’t a day older than twenty-five. His face was thin, and he had a dimple on his chin. “We’re anxious to get back into the fight. This is my platoon sergeant, Sergeant First Class Wade.”

  Wade didn’t look pleased to be there. The African-American man was old
er than his assigned lieutenant, and his mouth was tight like he was ready to spit at a moment’s notice. “Ma’am.”

  “I’m Margie and this is Tony. We are the militia group that will be attached to your unit.”

  Gunther nodded and War Child grinned. “We’re gonna stop off at each of the outposts set up by Colonel Kinnick for supplies as we travel north to Clinton,” War Child said, his voice grating. “Should take about a week, give or take. First pit stop is Burlington. Get to see how our old gal Red Clare is doing.”

  “When can we expect to get our firearms?” Gunther asked. Clearly he was concerned about defending himself and his men, but could they really trust him and his platoon? He looked trustworthy enough. She turned her gaze to Wade. His eyes were dark. Something troubled him that she bet he never spoke about.

  Margie piped up; it was clear she was still a little nervous about asserting herself in front of the other commanders. “Not until we reach Clinton. Captain Heath has assured us that the Marine squad there has enough weapons to outfit hundreds of soldiers.”

  “If I may be frank, what if we need to fight before we get there?” Wade interjected.

  Margie held her ground. “The War Machines and the Volunteers should be able to handle anything along the river.”

  Wade’s mouth tightened even more.

  “I think that’s a mistake. We joined Captain Steele. We deserve to protect ourselves,” Gunther said.

  “And those were his orders,” Margie said.

  War Child spread his arms. “Fellas, I understand. Being an ex-military man myself, I get feeling naked out here.” He slapped Gunther on the shoulder, jostling the man. “My crew is carrying plenty of extra guns and ammunition. If we get in a scrap, I’ll make sure each and every one of your soldiers gets a gun.”

  “We’ll be sitting ducks out there,” Gunther said.

  War Child reached out and clapped the lieutenant on the back again. “I’ll take care of you. You have my word.”

  “I don’t like it.” Gunther eyed Wade for confirmation of his assessment.

  “Beats manual labor,” Wade said.

  Gunther nodded his head in affirmation. “You can understand why we don’t want to be out in the open unarmed.” His eyes were honest. “But we’ll wait until Clinton.”

  War Child canvassed the sky and the falling snow. “Best get this show on the road before it gets too cold.” He wheezed a laugh and patted his jacket for his pack of cigarettes.

  “Sergeant First Class Wade, can you get 1st Platoon on board?” Gunther asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Ladies,” Gunther said and walked back to his pontoon.

  War Child gave them a grin as he threw a cigarette into his mouth, flicking his lighter. “Should be fun.” He boarded the waiting pontoon.

  Tess squeezed Margie’s shoulder. “You’re going to do well.” It almost felt awkward to be comforting a woman almost twice her age.

  “Thank you.” Margie made her way to her tiny pontoon boat. Men unraveled mooring ropes, and people settled aboard the boats, huddling down in an attempt to cut the wind.

  Motors fired up with a chug-chug-chug. The unwieldy long watercraft reversed and slugged up the river. Tess wiped her almost frozen nose. She twitched her it, trying to get sensation back into her numb appendage, and flared her nostrils, attempting to break apart crystalizing snot.

  She walked away from the docks back to the fortified homestead. Stacked logs had begun to be erected around the farmhouse, cabins, and barns in an attempt to harden their base. She traversed through an unfinished part, rubbing her shoulders as she tried to keep warm.

  The faint sound of men chopping wood reached her ears. Far across the farm fields and into the timber was where most of the healthy men would be. Every day, they chopped a little farther into the forest. Nearby women carried buckets of water from the hand-pump well and tended fires inside the cabins and barns.

  The two cabins closest to the Reynolds’s farmhouse contained the Red Stripes motorcycle club. I wonder what they’ve been up to? She wiped her nose again as the wind picked up. The bulkiness of her coat blocked most of the freezing air, but some still managed to get up and under her clothes, making her slender frame shiver.

  She crossed the center of the camp. The ground here was trampled into a brown soupy mush from the hundreds of feet that traveled through on a daily basis. She sauntered up to the doorway and rapped the recently cut tan door.

  “Anybody home?” she called out.

  Testing the doorknob, it spun and she stepped inside cautiously. “Half-Barrel? Thunder?”

  The cabin was a sizable single room with a wider than average fireplace and chimney on the far side. It could easily fit over twenty people or even more, depending on how personal people wanted to be with one another.

  Sleeping bags and blankets dominated the floor. Beer cans and wrappers were strewn about carelessly, giving the appearance that they’d been ransacked in the night. The fireplace emitted a weak warmth. The Red Stripes had been gone long enough that their fire was only a few hot coals. She rubbed her hands together and blew on them.

  “Anybody home?”

  She kicked a can with her foot, and it rattled across the floor before resting at the foot of a sleeping bag. Her boots clopped on the floorboards. She peered around their mess of a cabin. She spied a green hiking backpack in the corner.

  Squatting down, she flipped open the top. She peeked inside, angling the bag for better light. She rummaged through pulling out porno magazines: Sexxxy Time, Grandma’s Cookies, and a Bush Chaser. She shook her head. “Animals.” She tossed them to the side, digging deeper into the pack. The bottom was lined with boxes of bullets. Some were spilt and the loose brass tinkled together. She shoved the bag back into the corner and stood.

  She found bags of food and a few guns, nothing incriminating, and nothing that furthered any suspicion of a connection between the Chosen and the Red Stripes. She held her thawing nose for a moment, trying to think if she missed anything.

  “I know I ain’t crazy.” Her footsteps echoed as she cut through the makeshift beds of the bikers. Maybe I’m wrong about them. She walked past the fireplace, each step sounding out. Her left foot struck a board, stopping her.

  “Hmm.” Her footstep sounded funny. Tilting her head to the side, she listened. Her foot creaked over the floorboard. Shifting her weight to another board, she listened. The sound was damp and dull with a solid feeling to it. She lifted her foot, resting it upon the suspect board, a hollow sound echoing forth. Gazing downward, she examined the wood. It was the same color as the rest of the floorboards, roughly hewn and hardly sanded cedar.

  Pulling her knife from her waist, she threaded it through the cracks around the edges. She pried the piece of wood up until she could get her fingers beneath it. She rolled the floorboard to the side, revealing a gaping black hole. Dropping to her knees, she flipped up a few more nearby floorboards.

  “What do we have here? Hiding something?” Placing her head closer to the hole, she found it difficult to make anything out. She thrust her arm into the open space and felt around. Her hand grasped a hard plastic handle, and she hefted it. It was heavy with her arm extended, weighing over thirty pounds. She grunted as she used her back and shoulders to hoist the bag upward.

  The black bag rattled like she’d dropped a thousand marbles as she threw it on the floor. “Secrets, secrets are no fun.” She crawled over to the duffel bag and unzipped it down the middle.

  Varying sizes of see-through orange bottles with white childproof tops layered the bag. She knew right away. Twisting one in her hands, she inspected it. “Take one a day for ten days even if no flu symptoms are present.” She shook the pill bottle and tossed it back into the bag. Antibiotics, antivirals, pain killers. Each container rattled its illness treating contents. She flung a bottle back inside and sat back on her heels.

  “Motherfuckers been hoarding the meds.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe this s
hit.” She peered at the door. “All while that son of bitch pastor’s been preaching how there’s no medicine.” She gritted her teeth and picked up a bottle, shoving it in her pocket. “Motherfuckers are setting us up.”

  JOSEPH

  Cheyenne Mountain Complex, CO

  A frown had settled on Dr. Desai’s face. “How does one go about finding a secret group of conspirators?”

  “Do we put out a signal or something to let them know we want to meet?” Joseph asked.

  Hollis grimaced like he wanted to choke on his crackers. “Heavens no, we wait for them to contact us.”

  Both Joseph and Desai blinked at the heavyset doctor. “How do you know?”

  “How do they know we joined?”

  Hollis’s fat jiggled. “Have you ever seen a movie? Secret rebel groups always find new people to recruit. I know one thing for sure: if we start asking around, we’re going to end up in one of those cells along with Byrnes if in fact he’s still alive.”

  Joseph prodded his glasses back up his nose. “I think you’re right. We can’t be too forward or somebody we don’t want catching wind will find out, but what do we do in the meantime?”

  “Amateurs.” Hollis snorted a laugh. “We go about our normal business. I will start by seeing how much of the vaccine I can misplace for safe houses in the Golden Triangle. You two must go about your normal routine. Get to the lab and create more of the vaccine.”

  “You’re right.” Joseph stood. “Let’s get back to the lab.”

  Desai rose, inhaling a deep breath. “I’m ready.”

  Hollis shook his head. “We can’t all leave at once. Let me go first. Wait five minutes then you can go back to the lab.” He exhaled heavily. “We’re going to get caught. Try and act normal out there.” He eyed them. “Like you aren’t waging a coup against the government.” Placing a hand on the door, he turned. “I’ll talk to you later.” He whipped open the door and left.

  “How is he good at this?”