Charlie looked at me, and I knew he had heard it, too. He looked at the bloody mess in the yard and nodded in that direction.
“He’s lying on something,” Charlie said.
I looked and saw that Charlie was right. There was something under the man’s chest; something he died trying to protect. As we watched, the man started to stir, and we knew he was going to rise soon. Whatever he was protecting was going to be dead the second he realized it was within biting distance.
Charlie quickly stepped over and brought his left hand axe down in a single sweep, killing the emerging zombie. I reached his side and kicked him over, knocking him away from whatever it was he was protecting.
Nestled in the snow in a small hollow the man must have hurriedly scooped with his hands was a little blanket-wrapped bundle. The blanket was soaked in blood, and if any of that blood was infected, whatever was in there was likely infected as well. Charlie carefully pulled the blanket away revealing what was worth dying for.
“What the hell?” Charlie asked.
I looked over his shoulder and saw two big brown eyes looking back at me. They blinked once then closed again.
“Well, I wasn’t expecting that,” I said.
Charlie looked thoughtful. “You know, I haven’t seen too many of these lately, now that I think about it.”
I cogitated for a moment as well. “You know, you’re right, now that I think on it.”
“What should we do?” Charlie asked.
“May as well bring it with us. Is it a boy or a girl?”
“Umm, girl.”
“All right. Pick it up and let’s get going. I don’t think there’s any more zombies around here,” I said.
“Poor little thing looks starved,” Charlie said.
“We can feed it in the truck. Probably freezing, too. I know I am,” I said. I never liked just standing in the snow.
“All right. Let me see something first.” Charlie picked it up, and the brown eyes opened again. The little tail on the beagle pup wagged a few times and then was still. She seemed glad to see us, but Charlie was keeping her at arm’s length.
We went back to the house with the bloodstained walls and found that the water was still working. Charlie grabbed a towel and dampened it, rubbing it all over the pup. She woke up a little bit more for that and used the opportunity to try and give Charlie a lick. Charlie kept his distance, controlling the pup while he rubbed her down.
When he finished, he handed the towel to me.
“Any sign of blood?” Charlie asked.
I looked carefully at the towel. I didn’t see anything red, which told me the pup hadn’t been hit with the blood yet. We were safe to handle the little beagle.
“Nope, all clear. How it’s clear is a damn mystery,” I said.
“It’s cold, blood doesn’t flow as fast when it’s cold,” Charlie said. This time he grabbed a small blanket off the back of the couch and wrapped the pup in it. The little nose poked out, and with a move a rattler would have envied, she jumped up and licked Charlie across the mouth.
“Bleah!” Charlie said, pulling his head back. “Dog slobber!”
“You’re such a ladies’ man. I’m telling Rebecca,” I said.
“Funny guy. You know, I recall a time when—”
Charlie never got to finish his sentence. Outside there was a huge scream that rose up to the clouds and crashed down again like an ocean wave on rocks. The scream was long and loud, and if there were any zombies within ten miles, they were surely on their way here now.
I looked at Charlie and shrugged.
“Are banshees native to Wyoming?” Charlie asked.
“They are now, I think,” I said. “What in the name of God was that?”
The pup, who had been whining with joy at her rescuer, was now tucking herself into a small ball and trying to hide in the blanket. Charlie glanced down at her and drew his pistol.
“After what we’ve seen with Tucker, I’m inclined to trust animal instincts even more than my own,” Charlie said.
I nodded and pulled my own gun, motioning Charlie to head for the door. We backtracked the zombies, moving past the slaughterhouse kitchen, and back towards our truck.
When we reached the house just across the street from our vehicle, Charlie came to a stop. Three men were standing by our truck, and all three were armed with rifles. We were still inside the house, so the men hadn’t seen us. They were on alert, though, as was practically everyone, thanks to that unholy scream.
“Plan?” Charlie asked.
“Put your stuff in my backpack, and put the dog in your pack. I’ll go out back, get down the street, and then cross to the other side. I’ll get behind them, and when you see me, come out like you were looking for something to eat,” I said.
“Better than my idea,” Charlie said, thoughtfully.
“I don’t even want to know,” I said.
We transferred everything quickly, and I shrugged on the heavier pack. I went out the back door and over to the next road. I kept low and moved as quickly as I could, hoping that god-awful scream would not come again.
About six houses down, I crept back towards the front of the homes again, and looked down the street. The three men were standing at the back of the truck, and they looked like they were waiting for something. I delayed until they were all facing away, and then I sprinted across the street. Sliding to a stop behind the row of houses, I made my way back towards the truck, keeping out of sight. When I reached the house that had the truck in front of it, I crept around the side. I stayed away from windows, since I didn’t need a stay-at-home zombie to make noise trying to get out at me.
I stood out for a second, showing myself to the house across the street where Charlie was waiting. I hoped he managed to keep the pup quiet, because I had a feeling this mess had something to do with her.
Charlie stepped out of the house and walked toward the truck. He had the presence of mind to be holding a pillowcase with some things in it. I hadn’t thought of that, but it was a pretty nice touch.
The men at the truck noticed him right away. I held my gun on the nearest one just in case their intent was hostile.
The two nearest Charlie raised their weapons and aimed right at him.
“Hold it right there!” one of them shouted. “Don’t move!”
“Whoa!” Charlie raised his hands and kept them up by his shoulders. Anyone would think he was just trying to be peaceful, but his hands were actually closer to his tomahawks, and in a blink he could grab one and have it flying towards your head before you realized he had moved. “Hang on! I’m just looking for some supplies!”
“Bullshit. Your truck is full of supplies.” The speaker was an incredibly tall man. He had to be at least six-nine to six-eleven. He gestured towards the truck. “This ain’t how the truck left the factory, neither. Who the hell are you?”
I took this exchange as an opportunity to get a little closer. The nice thing about snow was it made nearly everyone stealthy.
“I’m just a guy trying to chase down a rumor. Guy I met back in the hills told me there was a community across the Mississippi down around Tennessee. Figured I’d head that way,” Charlie said.
The other two men conferred, and they faced Charlie again.
“Show us what’s in your pack, and you can head out afterwards.” The speaker was a round sort of man. He wasn’t fat, just fleshy. Zombies would feed off him for a week.
Shit. Exactly what we didn’t want to happen. I didn’t know why, but if they knew we had that dog, they’d try to kill us for sure.
Charlie handled it well. He put the pillowcase onto the ground and stepped back from it, keeping his hands right where he could use them.
“No problem. Help yourself. Tell you what. You keep what’s in that sack, and I’ll just move along,” he said.
I had to give him credit. Charlie was a huge man, but he was somehow convincing these locals that he wanted no trouble with them. If I knew Charlie, he was hy
per-tensed to move right when an opportunity presented itself. If one didn’t come up, he’d make one somehow.
The two men stepped towards Charlie, and the tall one spoke up.
“Stop.”
Everyone looked at the man. He used his rifle to point to the snow around the truck.
“Where’s your friend? There’s two sets of tracks leading away from the truck,” the man asked, raising his rifle to aim it at Charlie. “Is he inside another house taking what doesn’t belong to him, maybe?” The words were spoken softly, but the menace in them was thick in the cold air.
Charlie shrugged. “I wish I knew what you were talking about. I got out of the truck, went to the house, went back to the passenger side to get my bag out, and came over here.” Charlie’s explanation made sense, and I could tell the tall guy was thinking it over.
“Well, let’s see what’s in your bags then. The one on the ground and the one on your back,” the tall man said. “And don’t think you can get your gun out to try anything. You look like you belong to some military group or militia.”
Charlie shrugged. “Whatever you say, but I’m keeping my pack on. Nothing in there is from around here.”
“Oh, I think you’ll take it off,” tall man said.
I stuck my gun into the back of his neck. “I think he won’t,” I said. “Hold it!” I yelled at the other men as they turned around. “Drop your weapons! Now!”
Tall man slowly put his rifle down, and I saw him tense. I stepped back and kept him between me and the two other men. I could see them weighing their chances, when Charlie moved. He jumped forward, whipping out his tomahawks. He backhanded both men on the side of the head, hitting them with the hammer side of the weapon. Both men dropped like the puppeteer had cut the strings.
Charlie tossed their guns into the snow, and gave them a quick once over. Two more guns joined the first two, and a large bowie knife followed. He walked back over to the tall man and looked at him critically.
“You need to be more friendly. What was that screech, by the way?” Charlie asked.
The tall man sneered, and it was a nasty look on his lean face. “The pup was lost. We need the pup back.”
I waited for the man to say something more, but he didn’t.
“That makes no sense,” I said. “What pup?”
“The pup that keeps us safe. She keeps us from turning into zombies,” the tall man said.
“That makes less sense,” Charlie said. “We’re out of here. We killed some zombies for you. You’re welcome.”
Charlie got into the truck and fired it up. I kept my gun on the tall man until Charlie pulled the truck a little further away.
“You got some messed up things going on here,” I said. “But they’re your problems. I don’t think I’ll be seeing you again, but if I do, I’d suggest you take it easy next time. Your friends got off lucky.”
The tall man watched me with dark eyes, and I had a feeling he’d probably try a shot if he got the chance. I walked over to his rifle and threw it into the snow with the others.
“I’ll be seeing you,” the man said as I got into the truck.
“Your mistake,” I said, and the way I said it left no doubt as to what I was going to do if that meeting ever took place.
Charlie drove off, and just at that moment the pup, who had been getting more and more wriggly, climbed out of the pack and put its little paws up on the rear window. It looked out at the man who apparently saw it driving away.
Another screech rent the air, and I looked through the side mirror to see the man throwing his head back and screaming.
“I have no explanation,” Charlie said as he scratched the dog behind her ears. She sat back down and lay in his lap, putting her head on his leg and staring up at me with brown eyes, letting her tail thump Charlie’s other leg.
“Any thoughts on a name?” I asked, feeding the little girl a slice of beef jerky. She gobbled it down like her stomach had stopped talking to her, and I gave her some more for good measure. While she ate, I poured a small cup full of water and she took that down like she hadn’t been near it for days. After her fifth cup, I was wondering what those people had done to her, and why they were so freaking weird about getting her back.
“How about Hope?” Charlie asked.
I thought about it. “Nah. Girl dogs should have two syllable names, like Daisy or Sasha.”
It was Charlie’s turn to think about it. “Okay, how about a city name, like Cheyenne? We did find her in Wyoming,” he said.
I looked down at the dog who was resting contentedly in Charlie’s lap.
“What do you say, brown eyes? Want to be called Cheyenne?” I asked.
I got a yawn in reply.
“Montana, here we come,” Charlie said.
“Wyoming, you kind of sucked,” I said.
Dickens, Texas.
“Where the dickens are we?”
“I swear to God, if you make that fucking joke one more fucking time, I will take your fucking gun away, and shove it up your fucking ass before I pull the fucking trigger!”
“Jesus. Not only did you get up on the wrong side of the bed, but it bit you on the ass on your way out.”
“Okay. How many times have you made that same joke? Hmm? How many? I’ll take a round number or an estimate. How many?
“All right, I’ll stop. Sheesh.”
“Thank you. From the bottom of my heart. Thank you.”
Duncan turned away from his friend with a barely concealed grin on his face. Ever since they drove into the town of Dickens, he had been relentless with his using the word for everything he could think of. Based on the death threats he had received, and the failed ambush yesterday morning, he figured he had managed to succeed in his attempts to irritate as many people as possible in the shortest amount of time.
The army was moving slowly through the area, having been spread out to deal with as many zombies as possible. Skirmishes were widespread, and currently Duncan and Tommy were doing a little scouting for one of the larger groups.
The weather had been cold up until they got deep into Texas when suddenly it warmed up, and the war got a little more interesting. The zombies, while noticeably slower, were still very much a threat and had to be dealt with. The upside, was Texas seemed to have a lot more living communities in it than other states; a fact that prompted Tommy to speculate that they had a lot more guns in Texas and most adults knew pretty well how to use them.
In the short time they had been there, several communities had been glad to see someone was taking the fight to the zombies, and others were grateful to know they weren’t the last ones on earth. The rumor of the vast horde came up again, and it took several talks and a few threats to get that one to die down again.
“How do you think John and Charlie are doing?” Duncan asked, trying to change the subject off his teasing.
Tommy thought about it for a second. “Well, if they made decent time, they should be somewhere in Montana by now. Assuming they didn’t get into any trouble,” he said.
Duncan didn’t say a word. He just slowly looked over at his friend with narrowed eyes.
Tommy got the hint. “Yeah, they probably tried to clear out some town and got into trouble for it.”
Duncan stood up suddenly and looked out over the plain. Tommy looked in the same direction and saw a small car racing over towards them.
“Ours?” Tommy asked.
“Can’t tell yet,” Duncan replied.
Tommy responded by reaching for his rifle. He was different from his friends in that he didn’t go for an AR-style rifle. His liked a magazine-fed, bolt-action rifle with a small powered scope mounted forward of the action. It was chambered in .308 which allowed him to kill at a decent distance while still being able to deal with threats close in. He stepped back to the car and flipped the small bipod legs down onto the roof of the vehicle. Tommy placed the crosshairs of the scope on the oncoming car and waited. Duncan placed himself behind the car as wel
l, placing a pistol in his hand, and keeping another close by for his other hand. Duncan was a firm believer in ‘hail of gunfire.’
The car raced up the road swerving around potholes and skidding across patches of ice. At one point, the car slid sideways for a bit before the driver righted the course. The vehicle bounced over a washed-out section of the road before slamming to a stop. One of the passengers got out and raised a pair of binoculars to his face.
Through the scope, Tommy could see the man clearly. He was dressed for warfare, and had four red bandanas, one tied around each of his arms and legs.
“Ours. That’s Trent Caseman with the scouts,” Tommy said.
“He see us?” Duncan asked.
“Why’d you think he stopped?”
“I dunno. Scouts are crazy,” Duncan said.
“And what are we doing?” Tommy asked.
“Leading by example,” Duncan said. He raised his left hand and waved it four times. That was the signal to identify each other over long distances. Three times meant distress, and two times was so universal as to be useless. Anyone waving both arms was usually someone who had no idea who they were signaling.
The signals had to be established after an incident in the Ozarks. A small squad was working their way through and came across what looked like someone in trouble. Turned into an ambush, and the squad was prepped for a pretty bad night of torture when Charlie, who tracked them after they hadn’t shown up, arrived to deliver a little home-grown Missouri-born retribution. Rumor had it the gents responsible twitched every time something went bump in the night.
Trent responded with four waves of his own and jumped back in the car. The vehicle came even faster than before, and Tommy was surprised the thing didn’t rattle apart when it finally arrived.
Duncan had holstered his handgun, and Tommy rested the rifle on the hood of the car while the two scouts jumped out of the vehicle. Trent hurried over to Duncan.
“Sir! We have a problem,” Trent said. He fished in a pocket and pulled out a map. It was loaded with circles and numbers in both red and black marker. The black lines meant living people and communities and the range they controlled. The red was for uncontrolled or zombie-infested areas. From his vantage point, Tommy could see a large circled red area.
White Flag of the Dead (Book 9): The Zombie Wars (We All Fall Down) Page 5
