The Reckoning - 02

by D. A. Roberts

  “Thanks, Gunny,” I said. “I’ll have to get you something nice for yours.”

  “Let’s live that long, first.”

  “Solid plan, Gunny.”

  Then he tossed me a black disc with 550 cord tied to it. I caught it and examined it. It was an old military issue lensatic compass. With the computer networks down, the GPS systems would follow suit. If I planned on navigating, I’d need a good compass.

  “Thanks, Guns,” I said. “Don’t you need this for yourself?”

  “Got one just like it around my neck,” he replied. “I think we should both have one. I always said a man couldn’t go wrong with a good compass. I always keep a spare, just in case.”

  I couldn’t argue with that logic. We carried all the gear out onto the back porch. The backyard was still clear of zombies, so we opened the screen door and loaded the wheelbarrow. Then Myron locked the back door and secured the screen door with a zip tie.

  “No sense leaving it open,” he said.

  “True enough,” I agreed. “You want to drive the wheel barrow or cover me while I do it.”

  “I’ll let you do the grunt work, youngster,” he said, grinning.

  I liked the sound of that. At the department, I was the old man. Hanging around with Myron made me feel young. So, I grinned at him and lay the Keltec in easy reach on the wheelbarrow and grabbed the handles. Myron checked the load on his AR and nodded. Then he shouldered his weapon and headed out in front of me.

  “I’ll take point,” he muttered, and moved off slowly.

  I followed behind him as he checked around the corner of the house. When he nodded and moved off, I followed. Odin kept pace beside me, his nose working constantly and his ears perked for any sign of trouble. The wheelbarrow was heavy, but not so much that I couldn’t keep up with Myron.

  As we neared the edge of my sister-in-law’s house, Myron put his fist up signaling me to stop. I did so without hesitation, setting the wheelbarrow down and reaching for the shotgun. Myron leaned back and locked eyes with me. Then he held up one finger, indicating one target. I nodded and pulled out my hammer. Myron nodded approval and I moved up to the edge of the house.

  Just at the front bumper of my wife’s blazer was a zombie. Its back was to me and it seemed to be looking into the car. It had once been a woman and I thought I recognized her. I looked quizzically at Gunny and gestured towards it.

  “Its old lady Hatcher from down the road,” he whispered. “You know, the old bitch with the goats.”

  I remembered her. She called the local sheriff every time my kids rode their bikes anywhere near her house. She even called the county commissioner on me, trying to get me cited for working on my boat on my sister-in-law’s property. It didn’t work. I never liked that old battle-axe. I almost smiled as I snuck up behind her and readied the hammer.

  Just before I got into range, my boot crunched on the gravel and she turned around quicker than I expected. I was still ten feet away when her milky eyes locked on me like the target lock on a fighter jet. One of her cheeks was missing and one eye hung slightly out of its socket. She opened her mouth and her blackened lips pulled back over broken teeth. My mind screamed out the warning.

  “Shrieker!”

  Old lady Hatcher let forth with a blood-curdling shriek that nearly made my ears bleed.

  “Run!” I yelled over my shoulder.

  I turned quickly and threw the hammer. It flew true and struck the old bag right in the forehead, knocking her over backwards and onto the hood of the blazer. Instantly, the hideous shriek ceased. I ran forward and retrieved the hammer, then turned and sprinted towards the back of the house. Myron was already half-way to the dock pushing the wheel barrow as fast as he could, with Odin right on his heels.

  I caught up with them as they reached the end of the dock and I could already see about a dozen zombies rounding the corner of the house. We only had a couple minutes before they’d be on us. As he reached the end of the dock, Myron turned and threw his AR at me and I caught it with my left hand.

  “Cover me while I load the gawd-damned boat!”

  “Got it,” I replied, turning to face the coming crowd of zombies.

  There were close to forty of them now, with the lead dozen or so being made up of Sprinters. I engaged them first. My first shot took the leader, a gray-skinned redneck with over-alls and a bloody t-shirt, right in the neck. It wasn’t a kill-shot, but it did knock it down. That was just as good, because it took two more down with it in a tangle. I ignored them and concentrated on the ones that were still running.

  My second shot was better. It struck a teenage girl, with an arm that ended in a ragged stump, right in the forehead. She dropped like a stone. My next two rounds dropped their targets, but I didn’t have time to do more than register the hits. They were closing fast, and we were running out of time.

  “Get in!” shouted Gunny. “We’re clear!”

  I backed towards the end of the dock, firing as I went. When I got to the edge of the dock, I turned and jumped into the raft just as Gunny gave a big shove and we slid away from the dock. We both grabbed oars and pulled for deep water. Behind us, I could hear splashes as several Sprinters failed to stop at the end of the dock. Quickly, we were almost twenty yards from the dock and getting farther away by the second.

  A hungry crowd of zombies gathered on the end of the dock, trying frantically to find a way to get to us. Some primitive fear kept them from stepping off into the water, at least on purpose. Whatever kept them at bay, I was grateful for it. We’d made it clear, for now. As we pulled alongside the Caitríona, I felt a little more relaxed. We’d be safe on board the boat. There was no way they could reach us.

  As we transferred our bags of equipment to the boat, I glanced back over my shoulder. The swarm of zombies was still there and more were coming by the minute. I hoped that once we were clear, they’d lose interest in us. I got the feeling from watching them that they’d stay there until the end of time, unless something else caught their attention. I felt a sense of remorse for the poor bastard that did.

  Chapter Three

  Bifrost

  “Be happy while you're living, for you're a long time dead.”

  - Scottish Proverb

  We unloaded the gear into the main galley of the Caitríona. All the while, the crowd of undead continued to grow along the shoreline and on the dock. A few Shriekers let out the occasional banshee wail, but the worst was the moaning of that many of them. It felt as if the gates of Hel were opening behind us. It was completely unnerving.

  Once we were unloaded, we went inside the main galley and closed the door. It shut out the worst of the noise, but you could still hear it. It was especially noticeable when we weren’t talking. It was just at the edge of hearing, but you never quite completely toned it out. It was maddening.

  “Did you hear old lady Hatcher scream?” said Gunny. “What the fuck was that?”

  “That’s a Shrieker,” I replied. “They’ll call the others down on you.”

  “I guess it only makes sense,” said Gunny. “If you’re an asshole in life, then why would death change that?”

  Then I explained about the basic five types of zombies that I had observed, so far. There were the Shriekers, which would bring down the horde on you if you didn’t shut them up. Then there were your basic Shamblers. They were the most common that I’d seen. Sprinters were the most dangerous. They could be on top of you before you realized it. It was scary how fast some of them were. Crawlers were ones that couldn’t walk. They were only bad if you were on foot or not paying attention. You had to be extra careful when walking past cars.

  The last kind was the Grabbers. They were the poor bastards that turned while locked inside something. You might find them seat-belted into a car or pinned between objects. They could still get you, if you weren’t paying attention. I’d seen a stray dog pulled into a sewer grate when it got too close. One second it was sniffing around, then bang! It was gone. I could hear the po
or thing yelping in pain. It was horrible.

  “Is that all?” asked Gunny.

  “I damned sure hope so,” I replied. “That’s plenty, if you ask me.”

  “But there might be more,” he said, frowning. “There might be ones you haven’t seen before, right?”

  “I suppose so,” I answered. “You never know what you’ll run into. It just pays to stay alert, at all times.”

  “Ooh, Rah! I can do that.”

  We got into the canned goods and heated up a couple cans of chicken soup with pasta. I dug out my portable radio with the CD player and put on some music. Not that either of us were feeling particularly festive, but it did drown out the wailing of the zombies on the shore. Odin ate his stew and then lay down beside the bowl. He was asleep before the end of the song.

  Once we’d eaten, Gunny and I started checking and reloading weapons. We now had guns and ammo, but we’d be on foot. The guns were great, but I’d be almost afraid to use them while walking for fear of getting swarmed with nowhere to run. Our next priority was to find transportation. I remembered where I’d seen a Humvee, back along the highway. The problem was it was probably twenty or more miles away. We’d need to find a vehicle to get us there, but I wanted the Humvee.

  We talked it over and decided not to try for the bridge, right away. We wanted to wait until nightfall so the zombies wouldn’t see us slip away in the raft. It was also quiet enough that they shouldn’t hear us. At least that was the theory. If nothing else, it would take them hours to make it to the bridge, much less across it.

  We did our best to get some rest, but the noise from the zombies on shore made that pretty much impossible. After a couple hours of fruitless frustration, I finally had enough. I got up and headed out onto the deck. Gunny got up and followed me out, curious to see what I was planning. I snagged a piece of twine from my pack and jumped over onto the pontoon boat. When Gunny tried to follow me, I stopped him.

  “Don’t bother, Gunny,” I said. “I won’t be over here long.”

  He had to grab hold of Odin to keep him from following me. Once I was aboard the pontoon boat, I fired up the engine and untied the line that connected it to the Caitríona. Once that was done, I backed the pontoon boat up, angled out and set a course across the lake.

  “Get below and stay there,” I called. “I’ll be back over there in a minute.”

  “What the fuck are you doing?” asked Gunny.

  “You’ll see,” I replied. “Trust me.”

  Gunny took Odin below and I tied the steering wheel in place with the twine. Then I pushed the throttle lever to full and the big Mercury engine roared to life. While the pontoon boat accelerated, I ran to the back. Just as we were passing the bow of the Caitríona, I jumped across and onto the foredeck. The boat continued on roaring across the water, locked on a collision course with the far side of the lake.

  I lay prone on the deck and didn’t move. I waited and watched, hoping my plan worked. The loud noise of the engine and the movement of the boat got the attention of every zombie within hearing range. They seemed to turn as one towards the sound and followed it off along the shore, trying to keep up with the speeding boat.

  I low crawled along the far side of the boat to the rear deck, and then crawled back into the cabin. I stayed low so as not to attract the attention of any particularly alert zombies that didn’t fall for my trick. Thankfully, zombies might be lethal killers but not the smartest of opponents. They followed like lemmings and wandered off down the shore trying to catch an empty boat.

  Within fifteen minutes, the shore alongside Caitríona was completely clear of the living dead. I waited a full ten minutes more before making any noise. Then I turned towards Gunny and grinned. Gunny was looking at me and shaking his head in surprise.

  “Worked like a charm,” I said, softly.

  “Yeah,” he replied, “all it cost us was a boat.”

  “True, but we weren’t going to be using it anyway.”

  “Fair enough,” he said. “Let’s get some rest, now that the zombie symphony orchestra is gone.”

  I lay down and was asleep, almost instantly. I’d set my alarm on my watch for seven that evening, knowing that the sun would be going down close to then. By the time it was full on dark, we’d be packed and ready to go. I didn’t like the idea of being out there, on foot and in the dark. Unfortunately, we didn’t have much choice. Trying to cross the lake in the daylight would attract attention and almost guarantee us a welcoming committee on the shore.

  It felt like my head had no more than hit the pillow, when my shrill little watch alarm went off. I awoke and sat bolt upright in bed, the big Army Colt in my hand. It took me a second to register that there was no threat. I shook the cobwebs out of my skull and sat the big Colt on the bed, next to me. I was just reaching for my watch when I heard Gunny grumble from the next room.

  “Will you turn off that gawd-damned alarm, already?!”

  “Sorry, Guns,” I replied. “Still a little groggy.”

  He mumbled something that I couldn’t understand, by way of reply. I stood up and stretched, working out the kinks. I dug out my gift box, again. I took out my hip flask and filled it with the amber goodness. Then I tucked it into my shirt pocket. The rest of the decanter went into my pack. I just hoped it didn’t get broken. That would be a crying shame, to lose precious Bushmills like that.

  I started gathering my gear. It was almost time to leave. It would probably be the last time I saw the Caitríona. I felt a pang of remorse, but went back to my preparations. In the main galley, Gunny was doing the same thing. He already had a pot of coffee going. It smelled strong, but different than I was used to. There was something familiar about it that I just couldn't quite place.

  “Get some coffee in you before we shove off,” said Gunny. “We both need to be alert for what’s to come.”

  I did as instructed and nearly choked on my first sip. I thought Cop Coffee was bad. It didn’t hold a candle to Crusty Old Marine Coffee. This stuff didn’t just march down your throat, like the Booking Sludge. This stuff double-timed down your esophagus and hit your stomach like a Marine Division storming a beach, singing From the Halls of Montezuma all the way down.

  “Jesus, Guns!” I coughed. “What the fuck is in this?”

  “You know, the usual,” he replied, grinning, “water, coffee grounds, salt and bourbon. It just ain’t the same without the bourbon.”

  It hit my stomach and instantly I felt the kick. It started my system like jumper cables. By the time I finished the cup, I almost felt like whistling the Marine’s Hymn. Brewing the coffee had cooked away the alcohol in the bourbon, leaving behind the taste. I don’t know if every Marine makes coffee like Gunny, but it explained a lot if they did.

  By the time we had the raft packed with gear, it was full-on dark. I could barely see the shoreline in the darkness so I was fairly certain that whatever was on shore couldn’t see us, either. Gunny came out of the cabin and dumped the coffee grounds and dregs into the water.

  “Killing fish, now?” I said, smiling.

  “Nah, just waking up the lake,” he replied. “I’m cleaning out the coffee pot to take with us. There’s enough coffee in the can to make several pots. I have salt and bourbon in my bag. When we camp, I’ll make coffee.”

  “Sounds good to me,” I agreed. “Let’s get moving.”

  We divided up the weapons and ammo into the two packs. Then we packed as much food as we could carry without overburdening ourselves. I considered putting a pack on Odin, but thought better of it. We could take ours off and run, in an emergency. He couldn’t. It would weigh him down until one of us took it off of him. It would be better to let him be able to run, just in case we didn’t make it.

  I didn’t like thinking like that but in this kind of situation, you had to be pragmatic. Anything else would get you killed. I rigged a makeshift holster on the side of my pack for the Keltec shotgun. It would be right behind my right shoulder, if I needed it. The AR-15
would be slung barrel down across my back. I’d keep the Henry repeater in-hand. I could always drop it and reach for another weapon.

  Gunny loaded up, too. He slung his shotgun barrel down on the side of his pack. Then he slung the AR-15 across his back, just like mine. He had one of the .45 pistols in a thigh holster and the other two stuck in his waistband. He held the M-1 with the scope in his hands. He had an old boonie hat on his head and looked like a Marine recruiting poster with all that gear on.

  I wished that I had another interceptor vest to give to him, but I only had the one. I’ve been shot too many times in the last few days to give it up. We’d be keeping our eyes peeled for any kind of armor we could find, though. If we were going to make it back, we’d need all the help we could get.

  I loaded both of my cargo pockets with ammo for the AR and the shotgun. I put extra rounds for the Henry and the Colt in the side pouch on my rucksack. It wouldn’t be easy to get to it, but it was there. The Henry and the Colt reloaded too slowly to make effective combat weapons, but they were good for the first wave. I’d just have to be careful with the ammo and shot placement. Fortunately, I’d had lots of practice lately and my marksmanship had improved greatly. Funny how having a target that will eat you if it gets a chance will improve your aim.

  All told, we were pretty heavy. We each had weapons aplenty, a full rucksack and a large duffle bag full of ammo and food. I was probably carrying eighty pounds of gear and weapons. We needed to find a vehicle fast. I really didn’t want to carry this crap on my back all the way to Springfield. It also made running pretty much impossible. If we ran into a crowd of zombies, our only hope was fight it out or drop the gear and haul ass.

  With Odin safely in the raft, I took one last look around. I was really going to miss this old boat. I’d put my heart and soul into rebuilding her, now I was saying goodbye. I was grateful to her for keeping my family safe for me. Caitríona was more than a boat to me. Reluctantly, I turned away and climbed into the raft.