Beyond the Brink_Toward the Brink IV

by Craig McDonough

  “This is not the time, Sam. You have to pull yourself together. We’re not through this yet. Just know this—he was a soldier and he died trying to save us. Just might have, too. So, pull it together ’kay?” Chuck’s words were harsh, and without remorse but it wasn’t how he felt inside. He had a job to do and intended to do it.

  “Yeah, yeah, I’ll do that.” Sam’s answer was distant.

  Chuck didn’t have time to deal with self-doubt or blame right now. They still had a quarter of a mile to go. The hard part was the steps down to where the catamaran was moored. He couldn’t risk stopping the truck and making a run for it. The mutants were faster and they would catch up to them as they tried to start up the cat. No, he would have to drive down the wooden steps to the dock landing, then up to the boat. But with the flat tires, he was concerned that they might get stuck in the wider-than-normal steps or miss the sharp turn at the bottom of the steps and plunge into the icy waters of the Pacific.

  “Okay, here’s the plan,” Chuck made sure he had the attention of everyone inside the cabin before continuing. “I’m gonna drive this over the steps, onto the dock, then to the boat. We’re all jump out and take defensive positions. Except for you, Sam. You go to straight to the boat and get it started, okay?”

  Sam stared ahead his eyes glazed.

  “Sam! You got that?” Chuck forcefully reiterated.

  “Ahh, yeah, sorry. Yeah, I can do it, big guy, I can.” Sam unconvincingly assured.

  “Good. Brad, tell the other two outside to sit down. I don’t want anyone else falling overboard!”

  Chuck checked his rear-view mirror one last time as he neared the steps, making sure Smithie and Cleavon were down. Both men cut forlorn figures in the back of the pickup. He’d seen this before. Long ago, before there was even a mention of a plague concocted by devious people. In another time, another world and another war. Yeah, he’d seen it all right. The enemy may change but fear never does.

  But these mutant things? They were different. Like your worst nightmare and the scariest horror film all come true at once. Where or how in the fuck did they fit into the picture? Chuck had pondered over this many times since that first encounter. Obviously, given the time frame in which they appeared, they were an offspring of the same virus that produced the foamers. Elliot’s mother had told her son of strange, deformed births and the many rumors that accompanied these deliveries. She told Elliot that dark-suited, sunglass-wearing men would mysteriously appear within twenty-four hours after the birth and whisk the child away. When Elliot shared his mother’s story, Chuck knew the men she had spoken of were from the agency or a similar intelligence organization.

  Going over the steps was less extreme than perceived and Chuck drove the 3500 right up to the catamaran.

  “All right, take your positions,” Chuck ordered as he stepped from the truck, “when these fucks reach that building over there,” Chuck pointed to a small cubicle to one side of the dock platform, “open fire. And remember. One shot—”

  “ONE KILL!” they all shouted in unison, like recruits at boot camp.

  Chuck looked around for Sam, but he was already headed toward the catamaran. He was impressed to see Sam do as he said.

  Just hold it together until we get back to the island, Sam, that’s all I ask.

  “Hey. Let’s leave the truck back there and set it on fire. That should stop ‘em!” Brad suggested.

  Chuck didn’t bother with an answer. He took his Desert Eagle from Rob and jumped into the Dodge, its engine still running. He reversed the fifty yards to the cubicle-sized building he’d indicated as the engagement line earlier. The truck handled worse in reverse that it did going forward. Once he reached the “none shall pass” point, Chuck executed a reverse one-hundred-and-eighty-degree handbrake turn, then jumped out with the engine running. He opened the gas cap and stuffed in a cloth he’d grabbed from under the seat of the truck. Searching his pockets, the Tall Man realized he had no lighter. Always prepared in an emergency, the one thing he always kept was a disposable lighter or two—in his jacket lying on top of jars of Dill pickles back at the Walmart store.

  “A light. I need a fuckin’ light!” he called to the others, now taking cover behind some wooden crates.

  Brad, the only smoker among them—at least until recently when cigarettes became short in supply—ran forward, producing a book of matches from his pocket. “Here we go, Chuck!”

  “Okay this’ll—”

  The sound of a thousand feet thundered on the road just beyond the dock platform. The mutant children had finished with the body of their fallen comrade and had returned to the hunt.

  “Get back with the others, I’ll be right behind you!” Chuck took out his Eagle and fired three times at the gas cap. A spark could have caused the tank to blow and saved him the trouble, but it didn’t. However, there was now a small but visible drip of gas onto the ground below—all he needed. He tore a match from the book and was poised to strike it when a description in red on the inside flap of the matchbook caught his eye.

  Ollie’s Gas Station. Get free fries and a soda with every burger and a purchase of $20 or more of gas.

  Fries. Those damn fuckin’ fries! Chuck cursed.

  He struck the match, then touched the flame to the others matches in the book and held it out at arm’s length as they all flared at once.

  “Okay here we go…” he said to himself and tossed the book.

  The matchbook fell short of the pool of gas, but Chuck knew it would only be a matter of seconds before it caught. He started to sprint back to the others and could hear the engines of the catamaran. Along with that came the marching drumbeat of the army of mutants and their horrid, bird-like shrills growing ever closer. The truck exploded into a fireball before he put any distance between it and himself, the force sending him through the air. The hard surface of the dock rose fast—real fast. Then, everything went dark.

  Chapter Seven

  Sandspit 24

  Several tarps and ropes were appropriated—no one liked to use the word “taken” or “stolen—from Sandspit’s only outdoor supply store.” Chess and a team comprising of some of his men—the pilots, the Secret Service personnel, and Samantha Jones strung the tarps across the open space of the motel parking lot. Tied flush with the edges of the roof—with a gap left in the middle for the open fire—they were now covered from the rain and the general dampness of a Northern Pacific island group.

  Riley, Bob, Kath, and at times, James and David, supervised, hurling good-natured barbs as the work struggled when a gust of wind would come through. Riley and Kath paid interest to Samantha. In her late teens and tall—with an Angela Davis ’fro that took her beyond the six-foot range—she was also very, very attractive—more so when she was practically the only single female around. The Special Forces and Secret Service agents, and the other men—all might have been loyal, disciplined men. But they were still men. And men couldn’t help themselves when they saw an attractive woman—or in Samantha’s case, girl. From time to time, Riley saw the odd look some of the soldiers in the direction of Cindy, Kath, and even Kamira Charles. But these ladies were spoken for. Kamira was still regarded as the First Lady and married to the former president. Not even the horniest of Green Beret’s would go there. Kath too, was a very attractive woman, hot as the smoking barrel of an M60 LMG as a matter of fact. However, she was with Chuck and he’d kill you with his bare hands—of that there was no doubt. Cindy was an absolute darling with her long, blond hair and her cute, little button nose. She was Elliot’s girl and—it was now known—expecting his child. Another one considered off-limits.

  Yes, they were men, Riley knew. Good, stand-up men but the situation was this: there was no longer any law around—or any laws for that matter—and in the small group of survivors they were a part of, less than the fingers on one hand enjoyed a close relationship with a member of the opposite sex. And, well… there were more men than women and that left Samantha as the soul female inter
est, not counting Bob’s young daughter who was too young, and emotionally affected by the events in which she was unfortunately a part of to be concerned with—at least for now. She and her brother had been kept so isolated by their mother that most had forgotten they were even present. The only reminder would be when they were occasionally seen a during a meal.

  Riley was glad for the cold weather in this respect. If it had been summer and Samantha was out there helping in a pair of cut-offs and a tank top, he’d have to shoot these men one by one. When he thought about it further, he reckoned he’d probably have to shoot himself too.

  “Yep, the warm weather will bring its own problems, I’m afraid.” He nodded toward Samantha, who threw up some rope for the guys on the corner of the roof.

  “I know what you mean, but what can we do?”

  “Maybe we should have stopped at one of them adult shops in Missoula and picked up a few of those adult dolls and—”

  “Riley Mulhaven!” Kath seemed genuinely affronted by the notion. “And how do you know about such things as that?”

  “I err, I…ahem… Well, you see a lot of…err, strange things when you’re a cop, y’know.”

  “Oh, I bet. I bet you do.” Kath smiled, partially at his less-than convincing-answer and partially at his red face.

  Raised voices from two of the soldiers securing one corner of the tarp attracted Bob and Riley’s attention.

  “I gave it to you already!”

  “Well I don’t have it.”

  “Then look for it, because I’m not.”

  “What the hell’s up with those two? I’ll—” Riley started off in their direction when Bob tugged on his arm.

  “Let ’em go, Riley,” Bob said. “Let them work off a bit of steam.”

  “We don’t need no arguments around here. Not with everyone armed like they are.” As a cop, Riley had seen the devastating results from arguments among friends and even family when firearms were close at hand. Alcohol, an argument, and guns were never a good combination. there was no booze to be concerned with in this case, but the proximity of their small community disturbed Riley.

  “I agree, but I’ve been fearing this.”

  “Fearing what, Bob?” Kath joined the conversation, apparently now over the shock of Riley’s and sex doll idea.

  “Island madness, cabin fever, stir-crazy… call it what you like, but you know what I mean.”

  “Surely you don’t think that… I mean it’s just an argument…” Riley shrugged, not able to articulate what he wanted.

  “Ordinarily, I wouldn’t think the condition could arise so soon, but we aren’t in ordinary circumstances. Add the fact that these men,” Bob waved a hand around the parking lot, indicating the Special Forces guys, “are used to handling situations with a direct response. They can no longer count on that at all. There is no backup. No choppers for immediate evac, no air cover, no battalion over the hill ready to aid in their extraction—and believe me I wish there were, too—but it is what it is. And when these guys can no longer do what they’ve been trained for, then what begins as a few words quickly escalates. I’m sure you’ve seen it, Riley.”

  “Then what do we do?”

  “Work, Kath. Stay busy, plan, create, keep the weapons out of reach unless necessary. That’s the best solution we have for now.”

  “We have them working now, and—”

  “Yes, I know. But we’ve been confined to this motel—thanks to the weather. But as soon as Chuck gets back, we’ll have to rethink this idea of moving only in large groups. It’s like we’re all joined at the hip or something. We need more freedom to move about. The foamer danger on these islands is over, that I’m sure of, and we can afford to relax a little.”

  Riley nodded as he thought. Idle hands equal idle minds.

  “The situation with Allan is what—” Kath began.

  “I’m fully aware of that, but I don’t believe that situation would have been any different even if there’d been twenty on the catamaran that day. Allan was an integral part of this group, and he never used his young age to shirk responsibility—quite the contrary, he jumped in where he could. If any of us have to do the hard things to assist in our survival, I only pray we have half the courage of that fine young man.”

  Riley tapped the former president on the shoulder. Bob had expressed what he only wished he could.

  “Hey Riley, Bob.” Chess, now dressed in a dark-brown canvas jacket he scored at a store in Sandspit, came out of the motel office. “Been looking for you guys.”

  “What is it?” Bob answered immediately. He didn’t show any disappointment toward Chess because of the incident that took Allan’s life.

  “I’ve been going over the solar power set-up here for the motel and I think if we can get the right batteries, we can get it working. I’m no expert, but…”

  “Having two power sources would be a bonus, but what about the batteries? I assume they’re not like car batteries?” Bob knew very little about the finer details of solar power.

  “You could say that. I’d like to take a check on some of the stores in town. Failing that, we’d have to consider a trip to the mainland and—”

  Riley shook his head and waved both hands in front of his chest.

  “We need to concentrate on attaining independence from the mainland. We can’t keep going back every time we need something. It may not seem like such a long way, but these waters aren’t safe for a catamaran—it’s not that strong a vessel y’know.”

  “I understand, Riley, but I think a chance to get the solar power going again is worth it.”

  “Let’s just see how we do with a local search first before we make any plans for a journey to the mainland again, hmm?” Riley had no interest in another trip to the mainland, especially with Chuck and the others were already there.

  “Sounds good, I’ll gather a group for tomorrow morning, okay?”

  “Okay, Chess, first thing tomorrow. I might just come with you,” Bob told him.

  “Sure thing, let’s hope the weather holds up.” Chess turned to go back in the office when a slamming door caught his attention.

  “Speaking of expecting something…” Kath said. She turned to the sound like everyone else, and saw Cindy storm out.

  “I gather by that Elliot’s absence is taking its toll?” Bob asked.

  “Yes, and the pregnancy.”

  “I can’t even begin to imagine how lonely she must feel.” Riley rubbed a hand across his clean-shaven face. Like all the men he was glad to have the opportunity to shave and bathe again.

  “Let me go speak with her.” Kath moved away.

  “Is there anything wrong, Cindy?” Kath immediately regretted her choice of words the moment they left her mouth.

  “Wrong? Why would you think that?”

  Easy does it now. Kath felt the sharp edges of Cindy’s words slice through the air.

  “I mean, here I am, probably the last pregnant teenager on Earth in a world overrun by fucking zombies, deformed midgets and armed freaks. And the father of my child takes it upon himself to travel thousands of miles in a helicopter to prevent the destruction of the world. Well, I got news for you…for all of you.” Cindy looked around at everyone within the parking lot area of the motel. “There’s nothing to prevent. The world has already been destroyed. Nothing, do you hear me?”

  Kath looked back to Bob and Riley. She had no words of encouragement for Cindy. The actions of the others suggested she wasn’t entirely alone in that regard.

  Finally, Kath took Cindy by the arm. “We’re all in this together.” She realized how clichéd and tried that sounded, but it was the best she could do. “We have to keep trying. There may be others—many others—out there and it’s our responsibility to find them, join with them, and…and…”

  “And what, repopulate the world? You sound just like Elliot with that holier-than-thou crap, you need to—”

  Kath’s open hand struck Cindy’s jaw with a crack that was heard acros
s the parking lot. Even by men on the roof.

  “That’s it. I’ve had just about enough of your insolence. You need to shape up or stay inside your room and out of everyone’s way. There’s a lot of work to be done and we don’t have time to babysit you!”

  Kath stomped off back to her room. Once inside, she rested her against the door and took several deep breaths. “Hurry back, Chuck. Please hurry back.” Tears began to flow.

  Bob was right. Cabin fever or island madness—it had indeed taken a foothold.

  From Below 1

  “Easy, Chuck. Go easy.”

  The Tall Man heard a voice say. He tried to focus as he sat up and searched the room he was in. It took him a moment before he realized he recognized the tight room with little furniture and the all-white walls; he was in the room on the catamaran—the same room Riley had recuperated in on their first trip over.

  “Wh—what happened?”

  “You were knocked out after you blew the truck, setting the dock on fire. You don’t remember?” Rob kept an eye on him.

  “Umm, yeah, yeah now I do…sort of.” Chuck sat up further on the top bunk bed. “We got away then?” Chuck said rubbing his head.

  “Yep. Those fuckers just kept coming. Never seen anything like it. Ran straight into the fire like it wasn’t there. The explosion blew you into the air like paper bag. You hit your head pretty hard when you landed, but no skin broken. Just gonna be sore for a while, I imagine.” Rob smiled and brought over a bottle of water. “We’re on the open sea—about halfway home as a matter of fact.”

  Chuck took the water and the two pills Rob held in his hand without asking what they were. He figured they were painkillers—Riley made sure their first aid kit was well stocked before they left Sandspit.

  “Sure feels sore, but I’ll survive. I guess we—”

  “Chuck, Rob, you gotta come see this. You won’t believe it!” Ric pushed through the door and called urgently.

  Rob helped Chuck from his bunk and held onto one arm as they followed Ric through the narrow doorway.