by D. J. Molles
“How do we know you’re not with Milo?” someone shouted.
The crowd got louder, everyone clamoring together.
“What if you’re spies?”
“Is this all just a trick?”
Lee took a deep breath while Bus cast an icy stare out into the crowd but remained silent. Eventually the gathering quieted, and another person said, “Did you sabotage our fence?” This time the question was met with more of a murmur than a shout.
“No,” Lee said simply, because he knew any other, more complicated answer would be seen as dodging the question.
“Can you prove you’re not with Milo?”
Lee was about to answer when Miller stepped forward. “Can I say something?”
Bus nodded and the people looked at Miller expectantly.
Miller turned to address them. “I don’t know where this rumor started about the captain being with Milo. I don’t know whether the captain has all the things he says he has. But I was there when he and Angela and those two little kids were runnin’ from Milo. I know I saw Milo’s guys tryin’ their damnedest to shoot the captain. I know I saw the captain pull himself through rusty nails just to get away. So if you were to ask me whether he’s with Milo or not, I would hafta say no.”
There was a moment of silence as everyone seemed to mull this over.
Lee watched the faces as they exchanged looks and murmured among themselves.
“I guess what everyone’s concerned with,” a new voice said, “is whether we can trust this so-called captain to follow through with what he has promised.”
The new speaker was a tall man, this one the polar opposite of Keith, who looked like he’d been blue-collar all his life. This was a businessman, someone who fancied himself a politician. He had the bearing of someone who came from money and the soft, pleasant face of someone who had seen less of the hard times than those around him.
Lee immediately disliked him.
The speaker stepped out and then turned so that the crowd was to his left and Lee was to his right. His stance told Lee this was practiced stage presence. A glance over to Bus confirmed that the big man also did not buy into the speaker’s bullshit. However, to Lee’s dismay, the crowd seemed to find him enchanting.
A manipulator.
A politician.
Perhaps this was the person Bus had suggested was attempting to wrest control of the camp from him. Lee had to agree with Bus’s assessment that the camp would not be in good hands if that were to happen.
To Lee, the man said, “You do recall your promise? In exchange for us taking in you and your group and providing you with what we could, you claimed to be able to produce food, water, weapons, and medical supplies.” The man smiled disarmingly. “I know that Bus had the best of intentions when he let you into our camp. However, I think I speak for everyone here when I say that, in light of the security breach, we’re going to need something more than just your word if you want to continue to stay here.”
There was a chorus of “yeah,” “that’s right,” and “you tell ’em!”
“Excuse me! Hold on!” Doc flapped his arms. “No. No. If you’re trying to say that Captain Harden should leave to get supplies, that is out of the question for at least another week. The man has muscle damage and is probably in a lot of pain—in fact, I’m surprised he’s holding it together as we speak. Plus, there’s still the chance for gangrene to set in and I need to monitor—”
“I can leave tomorrow,” Lee said.
Doc looked at him. “No you can’t. You won’t be nearly healed enough to—”
Lee crossed his arms. “I fought today. I can fight tomorrow. If that’s what it takes to get this done, then that’s what I’ll do.”
Even the politician’s mouth closed as he processed this. No one had expected him to answer up so readily. The truth was, Lee despised the idea. The cuts on his back still burned and stung with every movement. Lee had also hoped to enjoy the relative safety of Camp Ryder for longer than a day before being thrust back out into the dangerous wilderness that America had become. There was safety in numbers here, and there was water. The thought of leaving that made Lee’s stomach flip-flop, the same as it flip-flopped when he hadn’t received that check-in from Colonel Reid so many long days ago.
No amount of training or experience made death any less frightening.
You just learned to work around it.
So he found himself once again stuffing that feeling down. Forcing himself to do the job that needed to be done, no matter how uncomfortable, no matter how dangerous. That was Lee’s lot in life, and while sometimes it nearly overwhelmed him, he would always make his peace with it. It was built into his DNA, just as much as the color of his eyes or the shape of his face.
Bus spoke up. “You can’t go out alone. Someone will have to go with you.”
The politician cleared his throat. “I’m sorry if I am being too blunt, but I don’t think anyone here trusts the captain enough to accompany him when we don’t even know where his loyalties lie. We’ve just lost one of our own under suspicious circumstances, and while we can’t prove Mr. Harden had anything to do with it, we can’t disprove it either.”
A woman in the front of the crowd put her hands on her hips. “If I remember correctly, Jerry, Captain Harden was the one who tried to help Kara, not you. I also recall that we were all facing the opposite direction until Captain Harden had the brains to look behind us. Seems like more people would have been hurt if he hadn’t been there. Frankly, I think we should thank him.”
Jerry the Politician knew not to argue a good point, so he raised his hands in mock defeat and tried a different tactic. “Marie, if you trust him so much, perhaps you should volunteer to go with him.”
Marie’s eyes became sharp daggers. “I have responsibilities here, Jerry. Unlike yourself.”
Jerry ignored the jab and turned to the crowd with a smile. “Does anyone else trust the captain so much that they would like to accompany him on this trip? Anyone?”
Under the ear-ringing silence, Lee regarded Bus, who stood like an angered god with his brawny arms crossed over his chest and a deep redness taking over his olive complexion. It was obvious there was no love lost between Bus and Jerry.
The silence stretched on.
“I’m goin’ with him.”
Lee was surprised to find Harper stepping forward, staring at Jerry with much the same look as Bus. Harper was loyal to Bus, and an enemy of your friend is your enemy too. Lee could tell that Harper volunteered less because he believed in Lee and more out of spite toward Jerry.
Whatever the reason, Lee appreciated it.
It didn’t take long for Miller to follow. “I’m going too.”
Jerry looked first shocked, and then sour.
Lee nodded at Harper and Miller and felt gratitude, regardless of their motives.
Bus smiled fiercely at Jerry. “I guess it’s settled, then. Harper and Miller will accompany Captain Harden. They will leave tomorrow.”
CHAPTER 5
Preparations
Safely inside the privacy of Bus’s office, Harper, Miller, and Bus himself stood on one side of the room while Lee stood on the other, studying the map pinned to the corkboard on the far wall. He had already consulted his GPS device in private and now circled a large area approximately thirty miles east-southeast of the red pushpin labeled CAMP RYDER. The spiderweb of roads thinned as they drew closer to the spot Lee indicated and eventually faded to a simple blank area on the map.
“That’s where we need to be,” Lee stated, tapping the center of that blank spot.
He turned to find three very grim looks regarding the map.
Thirty miles had been a quick trip two months ago.
Now it was almost suicidal.
“Can it be done safely?” Bus asked.
Lee shook his head. “I can’t give you a guarantee, Bus. You know that.” He drew a finger along the thick line of Highway 210 coming out of Angier. Their destination wa
s in the center of a triangle formed by I-40, I-95, and I-795. “You guys will know better than I do. How are the road conditions? Is it feasible to take the highways, or should we take the back roads?”
Harper moved both hands up and down, indicating a similar weight. “If you take the highways you hit roadblocks. You take back roads, you’re more likely to run into infected.”
Miller looked like he was remembering something distasteful. “I wouldn’t touch the interstates, even if I was driving a tank.”
“A tank would be nice, though.” Harper smiled wistfully. “Got any of those up your sleeve, Captain?”
Lee looked back to the map with a snort. “Wouldn’t that make life easier?”
Bus stepped forward and indicated the same line of Highway 210. “I came through this way from the other side of I-40. It was pretty clear, as I remember it. Of course, that was a few weeks ago.”
Lee pointed to a small town nestled on the northwestern side of I-95. If they took the highway, they would be passing through—or at least very close to—that town. “Any information on Smithfield?” While Lee had a general rule about staying away from population centers, a small burg like Smithfield might well be a ghost town. In a situation where more time on the road meant more danger, sometimes it was better to take the more direct route.
“Last I saw of Smithfield was a big column of smoke,” Bus said. “You could see it from the road we were on.”
“Something bad happened there,” Miller stated with a chilly sort of certainty.
Lee looked at the younger man. “What do you mean?”
Miller shrugged it off. “I heard there was an explosion. Or a fire or something. Just rumors.”
Smithfield interested Lee only because it was likely to have supplies that could be pilfered. On the off chance that it wasn’t a ghost town, it might have pockets of survivors who Lee could make contact with. While he didn’t want to bring Harper and Miller into any unnecessary danger, he also had to keep in mind his overall mission, and if he thought he could safely reach another group, he meant to do just that.
“Alright.” Lee nodded. “If there’s no objection, we’ll make it a straight shot down 210. We’ll evaluate once we get to Smithfield if we think it’s safe to go through or better to go around.” He traced a smaller line that branched southeast away from Smithfield. “Once we get on this farm road we can take it almost all the way to our destination. I’ll leave the finer points of navigation for when we get there.”
“If all goes well,” Harper said quietly. “Which is a big ‘if.’ ”
“That brings me to the next bit.” Bus sat on the edge of his desk. “Jerry can try to act like he runs things around here, but I’ll be damned if he’s going to control the weapons and supplies. That’s my domain and I aim to get you boys everything you need.” Bus looked each of them in the eye. “I’ll rustle up the best weapons we got and as much ammunition as I can get away with.”
Lee put a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you, but don’t leave yourself undefended. We will at least be mobile, so if the situation arises, we can always run. Plus, the more supplies we take with us from here, the less we can carry from my cache.”
Miller broke in. “That reminds me, whose truck we takin’?”
“Biggest one you got,” Lee said.
Bus scratched at his beard. “Keith Jenkins has a big Dodge Ram. Probably the most cargo space you’re going to get. Nice off-road tires too, if you need to take it around some traffic jams.”
“How will Mr. Jenkins feel about us using his truck?”
Bus pointed to the door. “You’ll have to go ask him.”
* * *
Keith Jenkins turned out to be the same Keith in the worn-out canvas overalls who had eagerly gotten the ball rolling on Lee’s inquisition. When Lee first realized this, he instantly began thinking of who else he could persuade to loan him a truck for his expedition. However, once in private, Keith seemed far more amenable than when Lee had first met him.
Now, Keith was chewing on a straw and gazing with a sort of forlorn love at his Dodge Ram 2500, as though he might never see it again. Lee and Harper had gone to speak with him while Miller assisted Bus in rounding up what other supplies could be spared for the trip. The old man leaned against his old dually with a hand on the bed that drew back and forth, as though caressing the flank of a well-loved draft horse.
“So…” Harper ventured.
“Shit.” Keith Jenkins spat. “It’s kinda tough, fellas. Me and this truck, we been through a lot. You see that big ol’ dent on the front fender? That shit came from two infected I knocked the Jesus out of ’fore I got here. Yeah… we been through a lot.”
“Mr. Jenkins”—Lee eyed the beast of a machine—“I can’t make you any promises, but we only got sixty miles to drive in this thing and I will do everything in my power to return it to you, no worse for wear.”
Keith’s savvy old eyes scanned along the truck, then poked at Lee. “You know, I was in ’Nam, ’67 to ’69.”
“Tough years,” Lee said, wondering where this might be leading.
“Sometimes when things go down, I start looking around for my old rifle, but alls I got is a shitty-ass deer rifle. Couple 30-06 cartridges to load it.” Keith crossed his arms and lowered his head. “You want my truck, I’ll loan it to you. But I get first dibs on one of them rifles you bring back. You got M16s?”
“I got M4s,” Lee admitted. “A carbine version of the M16.”
Keith nodded. “That’s good. Yeah. I’ll take one of those.” He sniffed. “You promise me first pick on one of those puppies, you can take my truck and do whatever the fuck you want with it.”
Lee and Harper smiled and were about to extend Keith a hand when he cut them off.
“Just one more thing,” he said. “Tank’s almost empty. Doubt you’ll get to your destination and back, especially the way this thing guzzles gas. You wanna use it, you’re welcome to it, but you’re gonna hafta come up with the fuel on your own.”
Lee’s smile became reluctant, but Harper’s faded completely.
Harper put a hand to Lee’s shoulder and turned him so they were both facing away from Keith. “That’s a tall order,” he mumbled quietly.
“Can’t we just siphon some from other people’s cars?” Lee answered in turn.
“Yeah, we can. But there’re only a few other vehicles here. Most everyone came in on foot, and the people with cars were almost empty by the time they found us.” Harper sighed. “Gas got pretty hard to come by at the end there. The stations are all tapped. We can siphon, but we’re going to have to go outside the wire to get enough to fill the tank on that thing.”
Lee swore quietly under his breath. “Well, we don’t have much of a choice, do we?”
Harper looked uncomfortable. “Not really.”
“Fine.” Lee turned back toward Keith and extended his hand. “One rifle of your choosing, and we provide the gas. You got a deal.”
Keith shook Lee’s hand vigorously, with a big smile plastered across his weathered old face.
* * *
Lee and Harper eventually decided that filling the Ram’s monstrous thirty-five-gallon tank was being overly optimistic. Working by the same calculations as he had when he’d appropriated the Petersons’ truck, he figured on the thirty-five-gallon tank getting them approximately 350 miles, if it was full. For their needs, they settled on rounding up to forty miles both ways, with a forty-mile buffer… just in case.
This left them at 120 miles, or approximately a third of a tank.
Which still meant they had to come up with at least twelve gallons.
Coming up with a few five-gallon gas cans was the easy part. Almost everyone who had come to Camp Ryder in a vehicle had packed a few extra cans of gas and had since used them up. They now sat around, as useless as their fuel-less cars. However, Harper felt that given the edgy climate of the camp, begging and borrowing from others would prove to be troublesome. As luck would have it, he k
new of a supply shed around the back of the Ryder building. When the survivors had first made camp there, Harper had been tasked with looting everything inside the compound for useful supplies, and he recalled the shed having a few empty gas cans.
While Harper went to retrieve them, Bus met Lee at the rear of Harper’s old Nissan Frontier, which they planned to use for their gasoline-finding mission. Lee greeted the big man with a reserved smile and leaned against the side of the pickup’s bed. Bus carried with him an olive-green duffel, much like the stuff sack Lee had been issued in the army. Hopefully it contained something worth smiling about. “Turned up anything good?”
Bus pulled the tailgate down and set the duffel on it. The bag made a heavy clank as it hit the rusty bed. “Well, it’s not an arsenal, but it’ll get the job done.”
Lee peered into the truck bed as Bus opened the duffel and pulled out a Mossberg 500 shotgun, a Savage Axis in .308, a black revolver, and a small black pistol. Judging by the tiny bores of both handguns, Lee guessed they were both .22-caliber.
The Mossberg was a no-frills ass-beater, designed to put rounds downrange and not much else. The tube held five rounds of 12-gauge ammunition, of which Bus had managed to scrape up ten rounds of buckshot.
The Savage Axis was a reasonably accurate rifle chambered for an excellent man-killing round. The .308-caliber round was rated to take down any animal in North America, and that included humans. Bus had managed to score thirteen cartridges of .308 in mix-and-match brands. Most of them were full metal jacket, but a few had little red ballistic tips. The FMJs were pretty standard issue, but the ballistic tips were designed to expand on impact, increasing trauma to the target.
The revolver held eight .22 rounds, and the small pistol held ten. For the ubiquitous .22-caliber, Bus had been able to gather fifty rounds. While the .22 wasn’t a showstopper in terms of power, the cartridge was small enough that anyone could carry a massive amount of ammunition on them without truly weighing themselves down. In reality, while the round wouldn’t stop anything bigger than a squirrel past a hundred yards, in close quarters it was known to have just enough power to get inside the body cavity but not quite enough to get out, causing the projectile to ricochet around a bit and rearrange a few organs. The .22-caliber projectile was the same size projectile as in the 5.56-mm cartridge Lee used in his M4, just with much less oomph behind it.
