by Dirk Patton
Betty remained rooted in place, her mind refusing to process what her eyes were seeing. She had forgotten to breathe and finally the need overcame her terror and she drew a sharp breath. Mr. Jackson’s head instantly snapped up in her direction and she gasped. His eyes were as red as the blood that coated his face and ran down onto his chest. With a gurgling snarl he lurched to his feet, never taking his focus off the doorway where Betty stood. Reaching his feet he took a step forward and growled. Betty snapped out of her shock, reached forward and pulled the door shut as she stumbled back. Her foot struck something that clattered metallically on the concrete balcony and she looked down to see the master key. Miss Welch must have dropped it when Mr. Jackson grabbed her.
Scooping up the key Betty started dashing down the line of rooms, unlocking doors and screaming for people to get up. The third door she opened was a room shared by four of the girls and one of them screamed and leapt at her as soon as the door moved. Betty’s hand was still on the door knob and she jerked backwards away from the attack and pulled the door shut in her panic. Hard thumps immediately started from inside the room as the girl pounded on the door in a rage. Trying to shake off her terror Betty continued down the row, but now she banged on each door with her fists before opening it. Several times there was an answering scream or snarl and banging from inside the room and Betty left those doors closed.
Less than ten minutes later Betty had roused all of the kids that were in rooms without one of the monsters and had them standing on the balcony. Mrs. Hatfield, the other parent, and Mrs. Wilson the other teacher were both missing. When Betty had knocked on their doors there had been screams and loud thumps as a response. The same had happened at several of the kids rooms. As the group stood there, screams and pounding coming from the rooms at their backs, Betty took a quick head count. Nineteen. That’s all that was remaining from the 27 she’d brought from Nashville. Betty had no idea what was going on, but she knew she had to get these kids to the safety of the bus and get away from Atlanta.
Quickly she herded the kids into a group, trying to be compassionate for the ones who stood there crying, but the need to move faster prompted her to start pushing and grabbing arms to get control. A minute later she led the group to the stairs and they started down. The kids were completely terrified and bunched tightly together and against her back as they moved. Halfway down the stairs the sound of shattering glass caused them to pause and look up. Mrs. Wilson pushed through her room’s broken window and screamed when she saw them on the stairs.
“Run!” Betty cried, rushing down the stairs and urging the kids to move.
Mrs. Wilson was a young woman, a former alternate for the US Gymnastics Olympic team. She showed her athleticism by vaulting over the second floor balcony railing and landing on the roof of a parked car, shattering all of its windows as the roof caved in under the impact of her landing. She leapt to the ground without even a pause and rushed at the group. Her step-daughter, Riann, froze and stared, still standing there when Mrs. Wilson launched herself into the air and tackled the young girl to the ground. Riann screamed but it was cut off as her step-mother ripped into her throat. Another window on the second floor shattered and Betty ran as fast as her aging, out of shape body could go, fumbling the bus keys in her hand so she would be prepared to unlock the doors as soon as she reached them.
Another window on the second floor shattered, but Betty didn’t take the time to look and see who it was. The bus was now only 30 yards away and most of the kids had run ahead of her and were just reaching it, yelling for her to hurry. Out of the dark from the far side of the bus two men lumbered into sight, each grabbing a kid and pulling them to the ground. Another female dashed in from the other direction and tore open one girl’s throat with a slash of her nails before falling onto another girl and savaging her face and neck. Betty charged up, huffing like a steam engine, and tried to still her shaking hands so she could get the keys in the lock for the bus doors. While she did this two more females charged the group, each taking a boy to the ground with screams of rage.
Finally getting the keys in the lock, Betty opened the doors and stepped aside to hurry the kids onto the bus. They jammed up at the doors, too many bodies trying to get through at the same time. While Betty wasted precious seconds sorting them out another woman and two more men showed up and each took another kid. The terror of seeing his classmates being torn apart and eaten was too much for one young boy. Turning away from the crush of students trying to get onto the bus he started walking out into the parking lot, a vacant look on his face as tears and snot flowed. A few moments later he was descended on by three women who tore into him with a savagery Betty didn’t know existed.
Kids finally on the bus she quickly stepped up and leaned her weight into the lever that operated the doors, slamming them a second before a screaming woman crashed into the folding doors. The glass cracked in a spider web pattern and the woman started beating on it with her fists and continued to scream her rage. Betty slipped behind the wheel and started the bus. Not waiting for it to warm up she shifted into drive and hit the throttle. The big diesel engine clattered and roared and the bus slowly started moving. Betty stayed on the throttle as the front bumper crashed into a sedan, shoving it out of the way with a screech of metal as more women ran screaming at the bus and slammed into the sides. The kids screamed with every impact and Betty fought the wheel to straighten the bus out and head north on the highway that would take them to Tennessee.
Chapter 17
“How did you wind up here?” I asked in a quiet voice. Rachel was seated on the other side of Betty listening to the story. The kids had formed up into a tight group and huddled a few feet away from us. Dog had found nine new friends and was soaking up the petting and attention he was getting from them. Watching them I was reminded of a news story I had once read about pets being used to help kids deal with post traumatic shock. It certainly looked like Dog was a welcome addition.
“We drove for a few hours. Those crazy women just kept attacking the bus and the men just stood in the road. I had to run so many of them over because they won’t move. I tried to get to the interstate but we got trapped in a gridlock of wrecked and abandoned cars. We waited for two days for the police or the Army, or anyone to come help us. When no one showed up and there weren’t any of those things prowling around we finally left the bus and started walking. My family is from around here and when we came to Wallace Creek I knew where we were and we left the road and started cutting through the country.”
“You and these kids have been on foot for two weeks?” Rachel asked in surprise.
“That’s right, sweetie.” Betty looked at her and smiled. “Like I said, my family is from around here and I know the area, but I also grew up a tom boy and I know how to live in the woods. This is Tennessee after all, not Atlanta.”
“But what have you been eating?” Rachel was amazed. I was kind of proud of the old woman. Again I was reminded never to judge a book by its cover.
“Darling, if you know where to look there’s plenty of food in these woods. Maybe not McDonalds, but a body can do just fine on roots and berries, and trapping squirrel and rabbit sure ain’t rocket science. Kind of good for me, actually. I think I’ve lost some weight.” Betty said the last with a chuckle as she patted her ample hips.
“What were you doing away from your camp when you found us?” I asked, taking a moment to raise the rifle and scan the woods.
“We heard the gunfire and thought maybe it was the police or the Army. Well, I guess it was the Army since it was you we heard.” It was too dark to see, but I imagined there was a twinkle in her eye when she said this. “Gotta be careful. Letting an old woman and a bunch of kids get the drop on you like that.”
I grinned, both in embarrassment and agreement.
“One thing about that,” I said, my tone gentle. “You’re very fortunate my rifle was out of commission. If it had been in my hands I would likely have opened up on that spotlight.�
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“Don’t you think I knew that, young man?” Betty softened the rebuke by reaching out and patting my forearm.
Properly chastised I sat back and thought about our next move. Now that I had gotten involved I couldn’t just walk away from Betty and her kids, but at the same time I was really feeling the internal pressure to get to Arizona and find Katie. It would be nice if I could get them to Nashville and be on my way, but after the recent additional outbreaks I didn’t know if Nashville was still a safe place. There was also the massive herd of infected moving towards the area that Max had talked about on the radio and I no longer had much confidence that the Army was in any shape to hold them at the border. The other option, dragging them along with me all the way to Arizona was not one I was willing to entertain.
“Betty, how far are we from Nashville?” I asked, raising the rifle and scanning the surrounding woods again.
She thought for a minute before answering, “If we follow the creek north it will take us up to Murfreesboro, then it’s just a few miles up 24 to get into Nashville. What are you thinking?”
“Here’s the thing,” I said. “I’m trying like hell to get to Arizona to find my wife, but I’m also not going to go off and leave you and these kids to fend for yourselves. I want to see all of you to safety and getting you out of these woods and at least as far as Murfreesboro is what I need to do.”
“Young man, we’ve survived for two weeks in ‘these woods’ and have been just fine. We don’t need your help.” I could tell by the tone of her voice that I had offended her. Time for some stark reality and a little diplomacy.
“Betty, no offense, but how many infected have you had to fight off? What about other survivors? There’s been a second outbreak and things are pretty bad and headed to worse. You’ve done an absolutely amazing job of keeping these kids safe up to now, but things are getting worse and like it or not, if you want to continue keeping these kids safe you need my, our, help.”
Betty was quiet for a long time, digesting my words. “We haven’t had to fight any of the infected, and you’re the first survivors that we’ve come across.”
Rachel reached out and took Betty’s hand in hers and started talking, relaying first the story of the men who had tried to ambush us at the outfitter store we’d raided in Atlanta, then moving on to her abduction aboard the cabin cruiser. While Rachel talked I stood and moved a few yards out into the brush to do another check of the area. I was on my second slow scan when movement caught my attention. Focusing on the area I was able to see what looked to be at least 20 figures moving up the smaller valley, following our path. There was one figure out in front, the remainder bunched up together behind it, and they only moved when it moved. These weren’t infected. These were men following a tracker who was on our trail. Holy hell couldn’t we catch a break? I moved quickly and quietly back to the area where everyone was sitting and called Dog to me with a soft pat on my leg. He jumped to his feet and trotted over, staying at my side as I moved. Betty was hugging Rachel when I walked up to them but I didn’t have time to be sensitive to the moment.
“We’ve got trouble,” I said, interrupting them. Rachel wiped her eyes and got on her feet, then helped Betty rise as well.
“We’ve got about 20 men coming up the valley, following our trail. I suspect they’re part of the group that ambushed Rachel and I, looking for some payback. Betty, get the kids on their feet and make sure they are absolutely quiet. No talking. Rachel, stay with them and get them moving farther up the valley. I’m going to set up some surprises for our guests then I’ll catch up.”
Each of the women nodded and I shouldered my pack and trotted off towards the approaching group, Dog on my heels. I stopped and told him to stay with Rachel, pointing back the way we had come from. If he was human he would have complained as he turned around and ran off to find her. I did a quick check through the rifle scope and saw that the group had covered very little ground and estimated I still had almost ten minutes before they reached me. Moving further towards them I was careful to control my noise. Fifty yards closer to them I stopped, knelt and dug through my pack. Supplies in hand I left the pack on the ground and started working quickly.
Less than five minutes later I was done, grabbed the pack and moved into the brush and climbed the slope away from the valley floor. Finding a spot I was happy with I placed the pack on the ground and lay on my belly, using the pack as a rifle rest and sighted in on the area of the valley floor where I had set up a little surprise for our pursuers. I had taken advantage of their lack of tactical knowledge which was evident by the way they bunched up when they moved. I had picked two trees on either side of the trail, about 20 feet apart and fairly well obscured by vines. On the side of each trunk facing the trail I had duct taped three fragmentation grenades about four feet up from the ground. Straightening out each grenade’s pin so it would pull easily I had linked all of the pins together with a thin, black nylon cord. The cord stretched around a couple of anchoring sticks I had jammed into the ground and was taut across the path at about six inches of height and 30 feet farther down the path from where the grenades were waiting. My plan was that as the tracker moved down the path he would walk into the trip wire which would then pull all six pins. With the bulk of the group nicely bunched up about thirty to forty feet behind him the grenades should do some nasty damage.
Grenades were not ideal for this type of trap. Once the pins pulled there was a five second delay in the fuse before they detonated. Five seconds doesn’t sound like a long time, but if the tracker realizes what he just walked into when he trips the wire and warns the group, it’s enough time for many of them to get to a safe distance. Ideally I’d have seriously considered giving up my left nut for a couple of Claymore mines to use in my trap. A Claymore is packed with C4 and 700 steel ball bearings that will absolutely shred anything in the blast zone of 50 meters. And Claymores don’t have time delay fuses. Oh well. Once again I reminded myself of the old adage that you fight with what you have.
I was settled into the rifle stock and watching through the scope when the tracker approached the trip wire I had set up. Behind him about 25 feet were 19 men, all armed, and though they were bunched up the narrow path forced them into a formation only two bodies wide so they stretched back another 20 feet. Perfect, as long as the tracker didn’t warn them in time for them to scatter to safety. Slowly the tracker advanced, walking with his head down, occasionally pausing to reach down and touch the path. How was he seeing the ground well enough to track us? That thought hadn’t even gone through my head until now, and as I peered through the scope I could make out the IR flashlight and goggles he was using. Shit! Would he spot the black cord before tripping it with his feet? I now regretted having set up a trip wire rather than running a line up to my location so I could pull the pins at precisely the right moment.
Scanning the group I was glad to see that all of their attention was on the tracker. They weren’t paying any attention to the environment around them and I could probably have been standing on the edge of the trail and they wouldn’t have noticed me if the tracker didn’t point me out. That was fine. I shifted my aim back to the tracker and saw him pause by the two trees where I had taped the grenades. I had intentionally not pushed into the brush at this point, not wanting to leave a trace that could be detected, but something had caught his attention at the edge of the path. Bending down he touched the ground, looked off to the side directly at one of the grenade clusters for a moment, but apparently didn’t spot them as he finally resumed moving forward. I let out a long breath that I hadn’t realized I was holding.
A long minute later he was at the point where I’d strung the trip wire across the path. I quickly checked and the group following him was nicely centered on the two trees. Back to the tracker I watched him stop and hold up a fist. The group stopped, but not after bunching up a little tighter. I felt a small thrill of exhilaration. It looked like my trap was going to work. A moment later I was dismayed to se
e the tracker drop to one knee and closely examine the trip wire, then turn his head first to the right then left to see where it went. Making a snap decision I sighted on his head, exhaled and pulled the trigger. He was on his knees and leaning forward over the line to look at it and my bullet struck his left temple and blew out the right side of his head, the plume of blood and brains visible in the night vision scope. The body collapsed instantly, falling onto the trip wire. I couldn’t tell if the pressure on the line that pushed it down six inches to the ground was enough to pull the grenade pins. I’d find out in five seconds.
Moving my aim back to the group I saw them tense up and all start trying to move at the same time as they reacted to their tracker going down. Fortunately for me they were standing so close together that all they initially succeeded in doing was to bump into each other as there was no coordinated direction of movement. One guy at the very back had the right idea and turned to run, but I dropped him in his tracks with a well-placed shot. Quickly shifting back to the front of the group I shot the lead man, then pulled the trigger on another as my mental count reached five. A heartbeat later a ripple of explosions tore through the forest where they were still standing and I lost sight of all of them from the dust and debris that six grenades blasted into the air. Both trees were blown in half at the point where the grenades had been attached and toppled to the forest floor, throwing more dust and debris into the air.
