The Undead Chronicles (Book 1): Home and Back Again

by O'Brian, Patrick J.

  A Coast Guard base was located just south of the Navy installation, but again it would waste time if they arrived to find no watercraft, or guns pointed in their faces. No, he decided, they needed to head directly for the base on land and hope for the best. Before they reached Portsmouth, the small convoy passed through Chesapeake, finding the highway impeded on occasion, but certainly not impassible. Roadside businesses such as a credit union and workout facility looked uninviting with smashed windows, parking lots containing the undead and abandoned vehicles, and the occasional scavenging animal darting off when the noise of the trucks reached its ears.

  Much of the area was comprised of the towns and small cities that simply bordered one another, all tied into the waterways surrounding them. Everywhere around them, the group found signs of death and decay, stark reminders of how quickly the world faded and fell apart in just over a month’s time. None of the lights looming over the highway provided guidance during the early morning hours, and all of the businesses remained dark, as though their owners simply threw in the towel one day and never came to work.

  Eventually the group drew near a major intersection where Highway 17 met up with Interstate 264 in a spaghetti knot of roads and exits. It was time for them to leave the state highway because the interstate led to several more direct paths if one wanted to reach the shipyard. Once the group safely traveled northeast on the wider roadway, Metzger buried his nose in the map, trying to decide the best route to Naval Station Norfolk, and some emergency secondary paths, when the vehicle began to slow.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked Jillian, looking up from the paperwork to see several abandoned cars immediately in front of them, and something potentially far more dangerous down the road.

  Three military vehicles were parked along both lanes of the road, completely blocking the path of any would be travelers. Two looked like armored Humvees, much like the military used in the Middle East, but the third was a larger transport vehicle with plating, and half a dozen soldiers seated in the open rear. Metzger couldn’t see much detail so far away, but it looked as though the soldiers had certainly taken notice of the small convoy heading toward the only base left in the area. Although there were a few alternate routes to the base, Metzger knew all too well the military might have them sealed off as well.

  “What do we do?” Jillian asked, keeping the truck stopped in the center of the road.

  Metzger saw little alternative. He didn’t want to waste more time, and if the military had designs of murdering seven civilians and a dog it was going to happen either way. Pulling the door handle, he decided to step out of the truck and see what fate awaited him down the road.

  Twenty-Six

  Before he walked down the road, Metzger decided to bring the others up to speed on his plan, if it could even be called a plan.

  “I’m going to talk to them,” he said once everyone stepped from the vehicles. “If things go badly, turn around and run for the hills.”

  Sutton clutched a sniper rifle in his right hand, looking angrily at the vehicles ahead. Metzger suspected he was enduring flashbacks about saving Gracine from some National Guardsmen who’d gone bad in the chaos of the apocalypse. Personally, he still believed a great majority of any police and military members left alive were still solid, law-abiding citizens who retained their compassion for others.

  For her part, Gracine tried to appear unconcerned, but the twitches in her cheeks spoke a different story to Metzger. She couldn’t trust soldiers at this point, likely thinking of them as bullies with guns, willing to impose their wills upon those who couldn’t fight back.

  Huddled almost like football players, the group had certainly attracted the attention of the soldiers dressed in their camouflage fatigues down the highway. Metzger wanted to exercise caution, but also didn’t want the soldiers to believe his friends were aggressive and open fire on them.

  “No one aim a gun their way or provoke them, please,” he said. “I’m going to try and get information and see if they’ll let us pass.”

  “And if they won’t give you either?” Sutton questioned with a growl.

  “We’ll figure out something. But I’m not going to know until I get down there.”

  “Let me go with you,” Jillian said, which Metzger initially took as concern for his well-being.

  “Too dangerous,” he said, shaking his head.

  “It’ll be less dangerous,” she insisted, “if they think we’re a couple trying to reach a destination. They won’t see us as a threat.”

  Metzger ushered her aside from the others.

  “I don’t think the power couple play is a good move,” he said. “Walk halfway with me and be visible. These guys could shoot me full of holes in a second and they could get you just as fast if you’re that close.”

  Drawing close to Jillian, Metzger reached behind him to grab the semi-automatic from his belt. He could have kissed her, but neither was ready to reveal their secret to anyone beyond Vazquez, so he thrust the gun into her hand instead. In life before the apocalypse he might have breathed in her perfume, overwhelmed by a need to be physical with her a second time. Perfume and cologne weren’t items the survivors typically sought out when raiding homes and stores, and body odor didn’t quite capture the allure of artificially smelling good.

  “Just have my back and I’ll try not to get killed,” he said.

  “Deal.”

  Metzger met the gaze of the others in the group, noticing their varying degrees of concern for him and their own lives. Removing his pack with the sword, the holster with the .357, and the sheath containing the knife, he set them on the ground. Having his weapons stolen or used against him didn’t sound like a good end result, and he wasn’t going to battle trained soldiers by himself, so leaving them behind sounded better. He sighed, took a deep breath, and finally turned to walk the distance between his allies and the soldiers.

  Walking along the highway, he dodged several stranded cars and trucks, noticing the clouds forming overhead were thickening and turning various shades of gray. More rain was incoming, and the breeze began to pick up. Being so close to larger bodies of water, the wind was a constant factor in the area anyway, and Metzger could now smell the clear air that came from being near the ocean, overcoming any odors of the undead in the area.

  Bodies in varying degrees of decomposition became visible in the road, under vehicles, and near the medians. Metzger didn’t stop to study them, but he noticed a few had very precise head wounds that looked like bullets entered through the forehead. He guessed the military had used the undead, and hopefully only the undead, for target practice.

  Metzger felt unusually nervous about his trek across the highway. He couldn’t truly tell if the knots in his stomach emanated from knowing the fate of his group depended on his interaction with the National Guardsmen, or how close he felt to seeing his brother for the first time in months. Unlike Sutton, he hadn’t dealt with the military in person. Several times in the early days of the apocalypse he saw them assisting with checkpoints where medical personnel examined travelers for illness, or in towns trying to impose a form of martial law so they could eliminate the undead while uninfected residents remained indoors.

  Neither of those actions lasted very long, and evidently some factions of the National Guard went rogue. Metzger found six sets of eyes staring at him intently, not blinking whatsoever, when he finally drew close to the three vehicles. He suspected more of them were hidden inside the vehicles, or taking cover elsewhere, to snipe him if he posed a threat to them. They all held weapons in a ready position, looking between him and the group he left down the road, scanning the entire area for any kinds of tricks or traps.

  As he drew close enough to speak with them, he put his hands halfway in the air to indicate he meant no harm, and a man atop the personnel carrier pointed in his general direction, prompting one of the lower-ranked men to jump down and intercept Metzger. Saying nothing, the man stopped Metzger’s progress by placing a hand aga
inst his chest before frisking him from his feet to his shoulders.

  “Clear,” the soldier reported to the officer, who certainly didn’t appear to be a haggard, old veteran by any stretch of the imagination.

  He might have been a few years older than Metzger, and the others ranged from their early to late twenties. Perhaps by design, their ranks couldn’t be easily deciphered in their fatigues unless a person drew close enough to read the insignias on their collars. Metzger wasn’t a scholar on military ranks, though he knew a few when he saw them from visits to police and fire stations with his students.

  “What brings you this way?” the officer asked Metzger, maintaining his position in the transport so Metzger was forced to look up at him, as though he were a king atop his throne.

  “I’m looking for my brother.”

  “The last of the survivors were ordered out of town a week ago. Our people personally assisted about a hundred to safety.”

  Metzger wondered where the hell any safety existed, because he certainly hadn’t witnessed any such thing in his travels.

  “My brother isn’t a civilian,” Metzger clarified. “He’s on the Ross, and they should have docked at Naval Station Norfolk by now.”

  Some of the soldiers, who had been scouring the area with their eyes like hawks, glanced in his direction as though wondering how a civilian survived such a perilous journey.

  “It’s too dangerous for you to go this way,” the man said, finally hopping down from the transport vehicle. “This entire area from here to the base belongs to the dead now.”

  “Belongs to the dead?” Metzger questioned. “You guys have guns and armament. Can’t the area be cleared out?”

  He was answered with a crooked grin and a negative shake of the officer’s head.

  “We have our orders. We stop anything else from coming in and they deal with the walking corpses along their fence line.”

  “Dan Metzger,” Metzger introduced himself as he shook hands with the officer.

  “Lieutenant Gabe Keppler,” the man replied. “You say your brother is on Ross?”

  Keppler used the traditional method of referring to any ship without the USS designation in front of it by leaving out the ‘the’ when calling it by name.

  “He’s the XO.”

  Metzger was finally able to see the single bar on each side of the man’s collar. He, like his men, remained clean-shaven and groomed, not reeking from body odor or unwashed clothing like regular people. Apparently the military enjoyed a few benefits, possibly from the hazardous work they put in while securing critical areas.

  Although the lieutenant wore a helmet, Metzger could see some of his light brown hair just above a weathered face that indicated the man spent significant time in the sun. Perhaps the tanned skin resulted from recent outdoor activities, but Keppler looked like a man who worked on the water, or in a field somewhere, perhaps on a tractor. His hand felt like a fine grit sandpaper when Metzger shook it, and he possessed a laid back country easiness about him as though wearing a uniform and carrying out orders still wasn’t natural for him.

  Even so, he led youngsters barely out of high school against a legion of the undead while dealing with survivors desperate for some form of shelter and hope.

  “Communications haven’t exactly been stable for weeks,” Keppler noted. “How have you been in contact with your brother?”

  “Sat phone,” Metzger said, deciding not to dance around the answer.

  Keppler gave a cagy grin.

  “Clever. That’s one way around the phone issues.”

  “We have our father to thank for that. He believed in preparing for every disaster. So, what exactly is the deal here?”

  “What do you mean?” Keppler asked. “Did you think the federal government would leave one of their largest military installations unguarded and overrun by the infected?”

  “You make it sound like it still is overrun by the infected. How do I get to the base to find my brother?”

  “You don’t. At least not this way.”

  “How do you and your men get around then?”

  “We have our vehicles, but we also have the Coast Guard to get us across the water when necessary. We’ve been able to keep much of the infrastructure intact around here.”

  Metzger started to question why the Coast Guard wasn’t an option for him or his group, but Keppler cut him off.

  “We aren’t a ferry service for everyone wanting to get to the base. Our resources won’t hold out forever, and we have our orders.”

  “Are there any boats anywhere along the shore?”

  “None that aren’t heavily guarded or under lock and key. I haven’t looked recently, but most people took to the water when they saw what happened on land.”

  “I’m not asking for a handout, and I don’t need protection. Just tell me the best way to get there and I’ll give it my best shot.”

  “You and your posse back there?”

  Metzger looked back, seeing his group waiting patiently beside the vehicles.

  “Isn’t there someone you can call?” he asked.

  “I don’t have direct contact with the Navy,” Keppler said. “Our orders are on different wavelengths, and they have half a dozen ships docked right now. We’re basically their security detail and they have better things to do than talk to us.”

  Turning so his back faced the soldiers, Metzger was able to get the lieutenant to follow suit. He needed a word with the man away from prying eyes and ears.

  “I’m not asking for the world here,” he stated. “If we get in there and don’t make it, that’s just another seven animated corpses you deal with later.”

  “Dan, I can’t even begin to describe how dense Norfolk, and the area leading up to it, is with the infected. It’s suicide to go near that base, and I can’t have your death on my conscience if I could have prevented it.”

  Keppler spoke the words, but his face didn’t register profound concern.

  “Sir, I’ll swim across that channel if I have to,” Metzger said, glancing in the direction of the Coast Guard station. “They’re about to deploy my brother on some new mission and this is my one and only chance to see him. I know you think I could be making this up, and that I’m just trying to weasel my way to some safe haven, but I believe you when you say the city is dangerous. I’ve had a taste of the infected, as you call them, and I know they’re everywhere. So if I’m going to die at their hands, I want it to be while I’m trying to do something worthwhile and not on the road, or while I’m sleeping.”

  Keppler twisted his face in thought momentarily, wrestling with how to best assist Metzger, or let him down easy. He looked back at Metzger’s group with a poker face, not indicating what he thought of the people one way or another. When Metzger tried following his gaze, he wondered if it wasn’t on the vehicles rather than the six people, because they weren’t all in plain sight.

  “We don’t have a shift change for a few more hours,” the lieutenant revealed. “If he’s willing to go, I’ll send my scout in with you to show the best way to the base. He won’t go all the way with you, and you’ll have to get creative just to make it to the fence. Chances are you’ll get overtaken by the infected before you get the Navy’s attention or convince them to let you inside. I’m not trying to scare you off, or paint some picture of certain death, but I want you to know what awaits you before you agree to cross this line.”

  “It’s appreciated,” Metzger said with a nod, “but I’ll take my chances just the same.”

  “I’m going to recommend you condense to one vehicle. Along with the roamers, the stalled vehicles get thick the further in you get.”

  “Okay,” Metzger said with a nod. “I need a few minutes to get things together and we’ll be ready to head that way. Your scout really doesn’t need to risk his life for us if he doesn’t want to.”

  “Oh, he won’t be,” Keppler said assuredly. “Like I said, he’ll only take you to the edge of the safe zone before you part
ways.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Metzger returned to his friends, still wondering if the offer was too good to be true. For a few minutes he didn’t think the lieutenant was going to let him pass at all, but some persistence eventually got the man to agree. Sutton didn’t like the idea of leaving his box truck behind, but he reasoned that it made more sense to hide it for the time being. The group found a non-military Hummer, black in color, that held six adults, one child, and a large dog with a little bit of work. They stowed what weapons they could easily store, a few supplies, and little else before driving the vehicle up to the blockade.

  “There’s something I need to tell you all before we do this,” Metzger confessed once everything was loaded and ready to go. “The lieutenant says the closer we get to the base, the denser the population of the undead will be. It sounds like a lot of people made a run for military protection and it didn’t work out very well for most of them.”

  “And you really think we can trust him?” Sutton questioned, outwardly indicating his personal doubts.

  “He tried to stray me away from this several times over. Look, this is my quest, and none of you should feel obligated to come along if you don’t feel safe. God only knows what we’re going to find in there once we get close to the base. So, if anyone wants out, there won’t be any hard feelings.”

  No one moved an inch.

  “Okay. We should be safe inside this vehicle, and if things get hairy we can always back out of there and look for another way, or leave the area.”

  A few minutes later the group stood at the military border forbidding entrance further into the Hampton Roads unless permission was granted.

  “Do you really have every highway and interstate covered?” Metzger asked of Keppler.

  “We really do. Of course living and dead can slip by if they avoid the main roads, but bad things await them further down the road.”