Before long, two more showed up. Females. He was sure they were communicating in some way. He expected they'd be moving any time now.
He held a finger up in the air, not that it was necessary. It was a windless night. He sighted in on the back of the head of the Hafoka twin to the right, the one he thought was Sione. He kept his focus singular, blocking everything else out. Nothing would distract him. This was by no means his first rodeo. He tuned in to the rhythm of his breath and waited for the timeless moment to come, the moment in-between where the breath stopped, where there was no movement—only stillness. When it came, he squeezed the trigger with a feathery touch. The head of the big man slumped face first to the ground, his binoculars and hands falling in concert with his head—a perfectly coordinated symphony of movement. The other Hafoka looked back for a moment, then put his hand on his brother's shoulder as if to wake him, but it was too late. And in that instant, a second timeless moment came, and he squeezed the trigger once more.
He jumped up and ran across the grassy terrain with his rifle. He ran full out to the pickup truck on the shoulder of the road, climbed in, set the rifle on the floor in back, turned the engine and lights on, and roared off, spitting gravel behind him. He wasn't worried about the noise. The infected would have heard the shots anyway. He wondered if they'd begun to move in his direction yet. He'd decided ahead of time to allow himself half an hour for this part of it. He didn't believe the infected would be able to get there any sooner.
He was there in less than twenty seconds. He veered off-road and parked the truck at the bottom of the hill next to the Hafokas' Tundra. He parked the pickup facing the freeway and left the engine and the lights on. The Hafokas were straight up the hill from the truck. He checked his watch. Ten-forty now. By eleven-ten he needed to be on his way. He could always leave sooner if he had to.
The small hill was super-uber steep, and he wondered how the Hafokas had managed. It took him a full five minutes to run to the top. Once there, he spent a moment bent over, hands on knees, lungs heaving. But he didn't have time for the luxury of catching his breath. He still had work to do.
He picked up the binoculars to check on the grays. The freeway was teeming with them, and they were finally beginning to move, alphas out front. What a time to be alive, he thought. He felt exhilarated and powerful and was experiencing a mix of emotions, mostly excitement, but there was fear there too—a primal fear. He could admit that.
He positioned the Hafokas at a roll-friendly angle parallel to the bottom of the hill. He put his shoulder into it and gave them each a healthy shove. Sione went first, then Tui. The Hafoka twins weighed a ton—well, at least two-eighty a piece. They rolled ponderously at first, like whales, before picking up steam. Once the momentum was there, there was no stopping them.
The slope was too steep to jog straight down, and it was difficult to see the terrain in the dark. He realized he should have brought a flashlight, but he'd get by. He zigzagged carefully down the hill.
A loud thump caught his attention and he stopped in his tracks. One of the Hafokas had smacked against the back wheel of the pickup. The truck shuddered momentarily. The other twin had settled on the ground behind the truck.
When he arrived at the truck, he grabbed the Tyvek suit from the passenger-side seat and slipped into it. He put the face goggles on and tied the hood tight around the goggles. Then he put his gloves on. The chainsaw was on the seat in the back. He glanced at his watch. Sixteen minutes to go.
With a quick tug, the chainsaw roared to life. He would start with the arms.
*****
Before he left, he drove within two-hundred feet of the horde. He flashed his lights and honked his horn several times. The infected, including the alphas, slowed for a few moments. He'd certainly gotten their attention. Then they began to move in his direction with increased alacrity. He couldn't believe how many infected there were. Legions of them. He guessed five thousand minimum.
He started right before the Gideon river passed under the freeway. He threw a half-dozen slabs of meat onto the freeway and the freeway's shoulder. They landed with a squishy thud. He was sure the meat would garner the attention of the infected lickety-split, like feeding chum to sharks. He went off-road and thirty feet in, he threw out several more. He followed the camp side of the river and made sure each time he threw out more slabs, the distance between them would be greater. It was important he keep the infected headed in the right direction.
He finished two miles from camp, right where he wanted to. He parked the pickup truck next to the river and locked the doors. He hid the key on top of the back tire on the driver's side. The backseat was stocked with supplies. Another escape possibility if it came to that. He'd also parked a Chevy Tahoe a mile north of the dam a few nights back. It was packed too. He was well-prepared for any eventuality.
He removed the Tyvek suit and goggles and junked them in the river along with the chainsaw. He scrubbed his face in the river in case any blood had found his face. He would double check for blood when he got back to his tent.
It was five past midnight. One more job, then he could head back to camp. He would have to take care of the lookout on the hill near the freeway. Wilbur Aguilar was there tonight. He couldn't have Wilbur warning the sheep. That simply wouldn't do.
He figured he could be back in camp by one. Then, just to be thorough, he'd pay the mayor a visit.
He took a deep drink of the night air and smiled to himself. Everything had gone as planned. The chum bait, courtesy of the Hafokas, would lead them right to camp. His best estimate had them arriving by five or six. Most people would still be sleeping in their tents. He would make sure he was awake long before then. He knew he wouldn't get much sleep, but it didn't matter. He was feeling a mile high, as wired as a meth junkie tripping on a stash of cool crystal.
There wouldn't be enough time to get people to the safety of the plant. A real pity. Five or six hours from now, a lot of the people he knew would be dying. Collateral damage. It couldn't be helped. There were only three he had interest in. No matter how things unfolded, they would die. If the infected didn't get them, he would.
Chapter 43
The Horde
Jules had dreamt she'd found the answer, but inside her dream she kept worrying she'd forget it before she woke up. The key to the answer was in the chest and had been there all along. She struggled in a limbo state throughout the night trying to keep the answer locked in her mind. To keep her tenuous grasp of it, she repeated the answer over and over again in her dream.
At one point, she dreamt she'd awakened and remembered the answer but soon realized she was still stuck in the dream. When she finally awakened, the answer had slipped away. The memory of dreaming about it was still there, but not the answer itself.
Jules sat up feeling flustered. She put the back of her hand to her mouth trying to fight off a yawn but it came anyway. Still half asleep, Jules picked up the chest and opened it. And like a wayward penny rolling home, the answer came back to her. The answer had been in the chest the whole time, but not really. It was so simple. The answer was in the chest but not in the chest. It was what was missing that had been bothering her all along. There was no trophy for AJ, yet there had to be one. AJ's trophy would be the Calligrapher's most prized possession. The trophy had to be somewhere.
Jules checked her watch. Five minutes before five o'clock. She didn't care how early it was, she had to talk to him. She had to trust someone and it couldn't wait. She threw on jeans and a t-shirt and slipped into her hiking shoes and grabbed her Glock and its holster.
Outside, the light was a silvery predawn blue. A few stars still flickered above in the morning sky. It was a cool, windless morning, quiet except for the constant hum of the river.
Halfway to Caleb's tent, a guard put a hand up as if to stop her.
"Going to see Caleb," she said as she breezed past him.
The guard looked flummoxed and cleared his throat but didn't say anything.
<
br /> The light was on in Caleb's tent.
Jules didn't hesitate. "Caleb. I need to talk to you. It can't wait."
It took a few seconds for him to answer. The answer was clear and concise. "Go away, Jules," Caleb said.
Jules unzipped the tent flap's zipper. "I'm coming in," she said. She ducked her head and walked in. The lamp was on and Caleb sat on his sleeping bag, the Steppenwolf paperback open in his hands. He was nearly finished. Rusty lay next to him. When Jules came in, he raised his snout and wagged his tail. Caleb wore cargo pants and a long-sleeve henley, and his long sunbleached hair hung loose and wild.
"You've either got a hearing problem, Jules, or you weren't raised very well." His voice was evenly modulated and distant, and he didn't bother to look up at her.
Jules stood near the tent opening and felt her jaw constrict. She didn't have time to be diplomatic. "Are you ready to help catch the man who may have murdered your daughter or are you just going to sit there and read your book?"
He turned his head slowly toward her. To Jules, it seemed as if his head had turned in super slow motion.
"Let me see," he started. "You came in here the other day and tried to convince me my daughter had been murdered by some lunatic. But you didn't have any evidence to back it up. Not a nickel's worth. All you had was bullshit speculation. Nonsense about her initials as if that proved something. That's a pretty harsh thing to do when you don't have a shred of evidence. Why should I believe anything you say?"
"What if there was a way to be certain?" she asked.
He stared at her without saying anything.
"Did Audrey own a favorite piece of jewelry that she may have worn a lot?"
"How's that going to prove anything?"
"What if someone other than Audrey had that piece of jewelry?"
Caleb narrowed his eyes. "What are you talking about?"
"Could you answer the question, please."
Caleb bided his time, keeping his eyes on Jules.
Jules stood rigidly still, waiting.
"Yes," he said, his voice a faint whisper. He turned and stared at the tent wall as if the past were written in it, and he was the only one who could see it. "After Audrey's mother had been gone a year, she sent Audrey a charm of the Eiffel Tower. Francine put Paris in the return address, but the postmark had it coming from Ohio. Audrey loved the idea that the charm her mother had sent her had come from Paris. I kept up the illusion, never told her otherwise," he said. He stared into his lap.
"She put the charm on a chain necklace and never took it off."
"A charm of the Eiffel Tower?" Jules asked, trying not to show anything.
"Yes," he said.
Jules couldn't look at Caleb. All she could see was the charm bracelet on Bethany Conway's wrist. She could hear Bethany proudly reciting the name of each of her charms as if she were standing right there in the tent with them, the Eiffel Tower charm included.
"You've seen it, haven't you? Who has it?"
Jules deadpanned. "I have to make sure," she told him. She stared at the tent floor, a thousand thoughts running through her mind. The Eiffel Tower charm could be a coincidence. It might not be Audrey's. "There are still things I have to work out," she told him.
"Audrey Jean," he started, but then went silent.
A few moments later, in a voice little more than a ghost of its usual self, he asked, "My baby's dead, isn't she?"
Jules lifted her head to face him. Not even the beard could hide the pain he was feeling. She could see it in his eyes. He blinked and a tear slid down onto his cheek. He wiped it away. The ends of his inner eyebrows had risen to form sharp angles like a temple roof and there were tight folds of skin between his eyebrows.
"I'm afraid it's likely, but I have to make sure. If you could tell me one more thing, it might help. Who gave you the book?" she asked.
"Nikki Gibson," he said softly. "A week before you found her."
"Nikki Gibson? Did she normally loan you books?"
"No. She said she wasn't going to read it and thought I might enjoy it. That's all."
A jumble of thoughts tumbled through Jules' mind. Could it be Heath? It didn't feel right. But he had been turned down by the bureau. Did it bruise his ego enough to give him something to prove? Heath was obviously an expert with firearms. He'd even recognized her FBI-issued weapons. And it had been Heath's idea to put her on the supply runs where she could have been killed. He was a graduate of Southern Utah and occasionally referred to Mayor Nichols as professor. Could he have taken the philosophy class from Nichols that focused on Hesse's writings? Was Heath Conway the Steppenwolf? Heath was close to the mayor and would have known about the Dali painting and possibly the Steppenwolf novel too. Jules wondered if Heath had been separated from Angela before the virus struck. If so, that would kill his alibi. He could have gone straight from Zion's Park to St. George. And then there was Heath's smooth, effortless drawl.
Jules suddenly noticed Caleb putting his boots on. He hadn't said a word. The pain was still evident in his eyes, but there was a hardness there now too. "I'm going with you. And just so you know, I'm not letting you out of my sight."
Jules knew there would be no dissuading him. "All right, let's go," she said. She had to talk to Lawrence Nichols. She had several questions for him.
Caleb grabbed his rifle, his gun, and his knife, and they were off. Rusty trailed after them.
They were halfway to Mayor Nichols tent when Jules had a sudden epiphany that caused her to stop in her tracks. "You weren't the one who carved up that bird in high school, were you? It wasn't you."
Rusty had started whining, then he began barking.
Caleb had stopped too, his head angled in concentration. "You hear that?" he asked.
Jules listened closely. Above the hum of the river, she thought she could make out a purring sound, but it could have been her imagination.
"They're here," he said.
"Who?" Jules asked.
"The infected. They're very close."
Caleb aimed his rifle in the air and fired two shots.
Jules grabbed Caleb's arm and they raced to the mayor's tent. There was no commotion in the tent whatsoever despite Caleb's warning shots. It was perfectly quiet inside. Jules went in. Lawrence and Barbara Nichols lay perfectly still atop their sleeping bags. Jules went over to them and turned on the lamp. The blood had saturated their clothes. Jules could see where the knife had gone in. The entry wounds were right below the sternum at an upward angle into the heart. The Calligrapher knew what he was doing. Jules imagined he'd put his hand over Lawrence Nichols mouth first before driving the knife in expertly. It would have been over in a second, maybe two. Nichols' eyes were open, frozen still. The same for Barbara.
Gunshots and screams erupted outside. The purring sound she'd heard earlier had become a raucous grumbling.
Caleb came into the tent. "What the hell?" he asked.
"They're dead," Jules told him. "Single knife wound to the heart."
"We've got to get out of here, Jules, right now."
She followed Caleb out of the tent and drew her Glock. She racked the slide and chambered a round. Twenty or more of them were already scattered around the tent area, roaming through the trees. Hundreds more were streaming through the picnic area at a frantic pace. Beyond the picnic area, Jules couldn't see the end of them. The camp would be overrun in a matter of minutes.
The camp guard that had approached Jules earlier was on the ground twenty feet away, wailing and screaming, his arms covering his face as a half-dozen grays ripped at his flesh with their teeth. Caleb took aim and shot the guard in the head. Out of the corner of her eye, Jules spotted one of the alphas, a slender, athletically built female, skirting the outside flank of camp on the mountain side, running like the wind, a host of infected trailing well behind her. She'd stop every so often, make a strange high-pitched trilling sound, then start running again.
She noticed another alpha leading a group down by the riv
er. Jules realized it was a tactical maneuver. They were being flanked. The alphas were sealing off any possible avenue of escape.
"Don't waste a single bullet," Caleb yelled. "Not one. Make sure you get them in the head. We have to get up the mountain. It's our only chance. Stay glued to my back."
People crawled out of their tents with bewildered looks. Screams came from everywhere and grew louder and more shrill by the moment. Jules could hear the high-pitched screams of children amongst them.
In the dim gray morning light, a man ran for the bridge in a crouched firing position. He fired at any grays in his path and had a rifle strapped to his shoulder. From the way he moved, she was certain it was Josh.
At first, Jules thought he was trying to get away till she noticed a huge parade of infected stumbling frantically down main street, led by a male alpha. They were less than a block away from the campground parking lot.
A gaunt female in a filthy tattered dress stormed wildly at Jules, her withered arm reaching out. Jules shot the infected woman in the head.
Jules and Caleb moved quickly but cautiously toward the mountain, and Jules made sure to keep in contact with Caleb's back. Rusty stayed close to them, barking furiously in every direction. They fired conservatively, only when grays were headed directly at them. Jules' view was towards the river, Caleb's toward the mountain. They were halfway through the campground.
People ran chaotically in every direction, often running into the infected who were everywhere now. Jules glanced at the bridge and saw Josh making his way through the van. He'd killed several infected who'd followed him onto the bridge. He ran to an SUV, climbed in, and backed out of the parking spot, burning rubber. A moment later he stopped at the entrance to the lot. Jules could make out the barrel of a rifle sticking out of the window of the SUV. The barrel was perfectly still for a few seconds, then Jules thought she saw it move ever so slightly. The male alpha leading the horde of infected stumbled drunkenly a few steps and fell to the street.
Apocalypse Journeys (Book 2): Finding AJ Page 29
