Sneaking his way around several vehicles to the Cruze, Sutton slid into the driver’s seat, gathered his bearings, and finally took off in a westward direction. He made better time the further he traveled from the military base, paying attention to the green informational signs along the highway. Although he’d traveled extensively through Virginia, he didn’t know every town, and he couldn’t afford to waste time missing exits and backtracking.
Highway 58 would lead him straight into South Hill, but as he passed Suffolk, the check engine light appeared on the dashboard of the Cruze. Knowing he couldn’t do much about checking the engine, much less fixing any issues, Sutton continued down the interstate, occasionally checking the rearview mirror. He almost expected Keppler to catch up with him and mess with his mind again. Part of him wished he’d put a bullet in the lieutenant, but Sutton knew that would make him the same sociopathic person. Although he’d prepared himself long ago to take a human life in certain instances, Sutton didn’t want such an act to come easily.
He didn’t share the same optimism about the future as some people he’d encountered. Mankind could certainly rebuild, but it wasn’t going to happen overnight, and life for any survivors was going to get far worse before it took an upswing.
Almost half an hour west of Suffolk, Sutton had nearly forgotten about the check engine light when the car began to sputter. His eyes immediately went down to the fuel gauge, which indicated the car remained nearly half-full. Any number of problems could have plagued the car as it began to lose speed, dying completely as Sutton guided it to the edge of the state highway.
“No,” he muttered, contemplating his next move because no travel options were visible half a mile in either direction.
He gathered what little gear he possessed and began walking down the highway to look for the next available ride. Sutton didn’t bother looking under the hood, because he didn’t have the means to fix any issues with the car. A lack of tools, antifreeze, and parts left him at a disadvantage, and he didn’t know what the last driver did to the car to make it cut out suddenly. For all he knew the gas he added was contaminated and seized the engine.
With a dry throat, Sutton walked half a mile, finding little of interest along the road. He dealt with three separate zombies rather easily, but knew he needed to find water or transportation soon. Passing up several houses because they were distant from the highway, he finally spied a house with some acreage and a pickup truck parked nearby. Not trusting that the residence wasn’t occupied, Sutton approached cautiously, having a look at the truck first. Looking as though it would run, the truck presented no visible keys. He looked around, seeing and hearing nothing nearby, so he tried the door, finding it unlocked. The Ford pickup appeared to be over ten years old, meaning it contained several hiding places for keys.
He searched the glovebox, the door slots, and the center console, finding no keys. When he tried both sun visors, nothing dropped down, leaving him emptyhanded. Thoughts of trying the old house crossed his mind, at least to get a drink of well water, but a noise reached his ears before he could exit the truck. Voices came from behind the house, and he ducked down to avoid being seen, although a sinking feeling told him the two men he heard were heading straight for the vehicle he unwittingly tried to steal from them.
Several seconds passed, and when he raised his head for a peek, he found four men and their firearms pointed directly at him.
“We’re going to ask you one question, and if you answer it right, we might not kill you,” the leader of the pack said with a gravelly voice.
Six
When the group entered the streets of Buffalo, Metzger felt certain his fears were unjustified because only a smattering of the undead roamed the streets. No one dared say a word, for fear some jinx would descend a plague of zombies upon them. Passing a handful of older businesses that included machine shops, used car dealerships, and strip malls, they saw a slight increase in the undead population.
Metzger knew they were easily within a few miles of the factory, located about a mile away from the lakefront. He began to think they might slip past a few undead, get into the factory, and carry out their search with minimal contact, but as they drew within a dozen city blocks of the mammoth, vintage building, Metzger felt certain he was late to a local rock concert.
Closer to the Humvees, the undead appeared spread out, but even with the naked eye, Metzger saw them standing wall to wall further ahead. No one said a word within the vehicle, as though even Nestler hadn’t expected such a massive gathering of the sole threat to their mission. Gazing out the windshield as though in shock, the second-lieutenant absently licked his bottom lip in thought.
“We can’t go through that,” Bryce spoke first.
“The hell we can’t!” Wheeler said with borderline defiance in his voice.
Metzger knew better.
“If we try plowing through them and their body parts gum up the engine, we’ll be trapped with hundreds of those things around us.”
“You’re the expert,” Nestler said, deferring to Metzger. “I’m open to suggestions.”
Spending a few seconds looking out each of the windows, Metzger saw open space with fewer buildings to the left. If the undead could be herded in that direction, they might also make their way to the lake and the old industrial zone, which might declutter the area ahead. Off to the right, more buildings stood in defiance of the skyline, which made any attempt to move the zombies that way incredibly difficult.
“We need to lead them to the left,” Metzger finally said. “The best strategy is to use one of these vehicles and the fireworks to lead them away from the target.”
“That could take hours,” Nestler noted. “And we need these vehicles to load any evidence we find. It wouldn’t be secure in anything else.”
“Can you hotwire a vehicle?” Bryce suggested.
“I can’t, but we have two mechanics behind us,” Nestler said. “I say we get out and secure a vehicle before the infected take notice of us.”
Still hundreds of yards away, the undead wouldn’t pose a threat for another five to ten minutes. Only a handful had noticed the Humvees and started stumbling in their direction.
Nestler jumped out first, signaling for everyone behind them to join the search for transportation as each of the ten spread out, attempting to locate a useable vehicle. Not nearly as plentiful in the city as they were on interstates or highways, several vehicles lined the streets, and a few appeared to be in top running condition. Bad luck followed the group, because none of the better prospects had keys in the ignition. The Marines began breaking windows to search the vehicles for keys hidden inside, but nothing turned up in the first five attempts.
“Can either of you hotwire one of these cars?” Nestler asked two of the Marines who’d been riding in the second Humvee.
“Possibly, but it takes some time,” an enlisted man named Ortega answered.
“Pick one of these and get started,” Nestler ordered. “Stay with him and provide cover,” he added, nodding toward one of the other Marines. “Everyone else keep searching for a vehicle that’s already prepped.”
Metzger darted down another street, mindful of which turns he’d already taken. His brother wasn’t far behind, and the two found another vehicle that appeared in rough shape and didn’t appear to have keys available anyway. Metzger walked to the end of the block, which presented left and right turns, in addition to the possibility of continuing straight. No vehicles were visible ahead, so he looked left, seeing a car a block down the street, and turned right, locking eyes with dozens of the undead. They couldn’t have planned to spring a better trap, and as Metzger started to back away, a few took notice, and soon the entire cluster of the undead began stalking him.
“Run!” Metzger yelled to his brother, just above a hushed whisper, and Bryce saw the issue immediately as Metzger ran back to him.
Faced with
the decision to lead the undead back to the group and deal with them, or take another direction, the brothers decided to let the zombies follow them back to the Humvees. Finishing off the zombies wouldn’t be difficult for a group of ten, but the hundreds, possibly thousands, of undead half a mile down the road would certainly follow the sound of gunfire.
When they arrived, however, the brothers were pleasantly surprised that Ortega had the best car of the bunch up and running.
“We found the keys after all,” he announced.
“That’s great,” Bryce said, “but we have a group of infected about a city block behind us.”
Nestler wore an expression of neutrality. He required only a few seconds to make a decision and give the orders.
“Ortega,” he said. “You drive and have Fuller shoot of the fireworks as you head back the way we came, towards the water. Take a radio with you.”
He looked to everyone else as the undead rounded the corner, spying even more lunchtime possibilities.
“Everyone else, gather into the Humvees. We’re going to stage away from this clusterfuck and wait it out.”
Now provided with orders, each of the military men and Metzger jumped into their respective vehicles. Less than a minute later, as the Humvees went in the opposite direction of the car, Metzger heard fireworks in the distance, and the few visible undead stared blankly in the direction of the noise, following the clouds that suddenly appeared in the sky. Because of the daylight, the sky was invaded by clouds of either black or yellow smoke that lasted mere seconds instead of intense, bright sparkles.
Fortunately, the effect worked the same on the undead that blindly followed the noise and temporary colorful clouds in the intended direction. Metzger hoped the two Marines in the civilian vehicle remained vigilant and safe because the car provided no true defense, and their firearms couldn’t hold off a large group. Most of the zombies that pursued the Metzger brothers broke off and followed the herd behind Ortega and Fuller.
Nearly an hour passed as everyone inside the Humvees grew sweaty, smelly, and impatient. A steady stream of the undead walked passed them without hesitation, simply following the herd for no particularly good reason. Zombies from every walk of life staggered past the Humvees, including factory workers, business people, and first responders that included firefighters, medics, and police officers. Men and women who responded to the explosion that fateful day died from bites, or the residue they inhaled, forever doomed to wander aimlessly wearing their work gear.
The military vehicles parked a safe distance away, and without the engines running, the zombies found no reason to deviate from their current path. No one talked, and fortunately no colds or allergies prompted anyone to sneeze. Metzger wasn’t certain the undead would hear anything through the thick armor anyway, but no one felt like testing fate.
Ortega and Fuller hadn’t called on the radio, which didn’t necessarily mean something terrible occurred. Metzger figured the Marines simply maintained radio silence to keep their fellow soldiers safe. He considered it entirely possible the two men remained far too busy to check in with their assigned leader.
“We should get moving,” Nestler said once the number of undead began thinning out.
“Wait,” Bryce said firmly, asserting his rank in one of the few situations he deemed necessary to do so.
Metzger, much like the two men crammed in the back with him, regretted the decision not to send one person from their vehicle to the other Humvee when Ortega and Fuller left in the car. As much as he wanted to stretch his legs and breathe open air, he considered the risk of moving too great until more of the undead left the area.
“As miserable as this is, my brother is right,” he said. “If we move now, we’ll just draw a few hundred back to us.”
Nestler groaned, but he didn’t argue the point.
A few lingering zombies pawed at the Humvees, but the people inside paid them no mind. Barely any sound penetrated the vehicles, and the group lasted only another fifteen minutes before they were ready to step out and mow down zombies instead of enduring the conditions inside. Now a walking trickle, the undead didn’t pose nearly the threat they originally did when the two Marines drew them away.
“Bryant, get in the second Humvee and tell those three we’re heading for the target,” Nestler ordered one of the two men crowding Metzger in the rear seat.
Opening the door on the passenger side, Bryant closed it quietly before approaching the other vehicle, avoiding the three zombies lingering outside altogether. Seeing his movements, the other Marines opened the door, helping him scramble inside before closing the door behind him. Nestler waited until Bryant was safely tucked away before starting the Humvee and following Bryce’s directions.
Few threats remained during the first half of the journey, but as they neared the factory, undead traffic picked up once more. Metzger estimated a few hundred zombies lingered within a block of the factory, and he suspected the Marines wanted some target practice, which wasn’t the wisest course of action.
“Let’s look for the safest entrance to the building,” Nestler said almost to himself since he was doing the driving.
Three stories of window frames were visible across the front and sides of the old building, but only two windows actually remained intact. Dozens of old windows occupied the factory when it functioned, but the explosion blew out the old glass, likely compromising other entrances and much of the equipment inside. Metzger recalled the news reports about workers being killed instantly from the blasts in each factory, and those less fortunate suffered greatly before passing away hours or days later.
None of the doors appeared closed, and several huge cracks showed in various parts of the brick building, making it look as though it barely survived a shelling during wartime. Long since painted beige in color, the bricks now put forth a dingy charcoal tone, covered by soot and elements years before an explosion rocked the interior.
Nestler drove around the entire building, including the loading docks, which appeared intact, but closed off by sealed doors or trailers backed up against their frames. No part of the building could be deemed completely safe, and the areas less inhabited by zombies didn’t have open entrances.
“Too bad we couldn’t get to the second story,” Metzger surmised aloud. “They don’t climb very well.”
“I didn’t see any ladders,” Nestler stated. “We need to get our masks on before we exit this vehicle, so I suggest we formulate a plan while we can still understand one another clearly.”
“I could climb that semi parked back there,” Metzger offered, speaking of the truck still attached to one of the two trailers parked in the loading dock. “Lead them away and I could find the safest way in from the inside.”
“Not a good idea,” Bryce said immediately. “Our best bet is to find the safest entrance, stay in formation, and mow down any threats before we start searching for evidence.”
“Agreed,” Nestler said before looking to Metzger. “But I appreciate your spunk.”
Metzger wanted to contribute, though he wasn’t certain his brother shot down his idea because a formation was truly better, or he simply wanted to avoid harm coming to one of his few remaining blood relatives. He watched as Nestler pulled up to the front of the building where two large bay doors showed signs of damage from within. Perhaps the factory took in raw materials in the back and shipped them out the front once they were completed and loaded, but Metzger questioned exactly where the explosion took place.
“If the back is secure, and these doors are closed, where the hell did the explosion happen?” he asked, instead of dwelling on the question.
“We think a truck was staged inside, waiting for loading or unloading,” Nestler answered. “Whoever did this probably had a device onboard that let them know the best time to unload the payload, because none of the devices went off at the same time.”
�
��We find that truck,” Bryce said, “and we start figuring out who’s behind this.”
“Time to gear up, gentlemen,” Nestler said, prompting Bryant to reach behind his seat and grab four masks, distributing them accordingly.
Metzger quickly got his mask sealed on his face but struggled to secure the straps on the side that helped maintain its contact with his skin. Bryce started to reach back, but Bryant tugged the straps to a snug fit first, saving Metzger the feeling of inadequacy that younger siblings sometimes experience.
Before securing his own mask, Nestler radioed back to the four men in the other Humvee that they were about to make entry. He reminded them to don masks, grab what supplies and weapons they required, and step out of their vehicle in exactly thirty seconds. Not very patient at all, the undead began circling the vehicles from their various positions around the factory, and Metzger wondered if any amount of time was quick enough for them to exit and make a stand.
His pack was already secured to his back, and his right hand gripped the sidearm he brought from Virginia, so he took a deep breath, closed his eyes a few seconds, and waited for the door to open.
When all four doors opened, the Marines were immediately making efficient headshots against the zombies. Metzger was impressed, though he knew the danger of making so much noise, and he did his part to shoot a few undead squarely in their foreheads when they drew close enough for him to feel confident doing so. All eight men formed a circle of sorts, occasionally bent but not broken by the surrounding debris and everyday objects. No zombie could penetrate their mobile perimeter, and as they drew closer to the front door, Metzger couldn’t afford to look, because he needed to shoot occasionally.
He heard Nestler give one of his Marines an order to breach the door, but no show of force proved necessary because the door wasn’t secured. Metzger knew daylight could penetrate the broken windows throughout the old building, but he wasn’t certain the group would be able to see around every corner inside. He assumed they were attempting to enter a typical employee entrance based on the downed fence surrounding it, meaning they needed to enter single file.
The Undead Chronicles (Vol. 2): Darker Days Page 8
