Everyone knew bin Laden didn’t wipe out more than ninety percent of the world population.
“We have guns, and we have armored vehicles,” Metzger added, prompting his brother to hold him back with one arm so he didn’t speak out of turn excessively.
“Fine,” the lead Marine agreed. “We get to the border and take a look. If it’s too risky, we don’t cross over. Like us, they still have a military presence, and they may not believe one of their hometown heroes murdered millions of people.”
Gathering up their gear, the group headed toward the cafeteria door, ready to get to the vehicles and continue their mission.
“Got your passport?” Metzger asked Molly with a cagy grin.
“I think it’s at home,” she replied with a smirk. “Thank you, by the way.”
“I have to admit this isn’t what I expected to find.”
Molly turned grim once again.
“We underestimated these people. They were ahead of us the entire time.”
“Now we know why,” Metzger said as they turned into the main hallway where Ryan’s body drew his attention, along with Molly’s. “None of this was an accident, and while he prepared for the apocalypse, we lived oblivious to what was coming.”
Molly requested the group stop momentarily when they passed a certain room. She ducked inside, returning with a paper that held handwritten instructions she’d obviously copied from the original documents the Wardens left at the school. For some perverse reason, the group that took over the school, turning it into a prison of sorts, decided to name their faction.
She didn’t offer to hand over the paper, and no one asked her to, yet, so the group continued walking down the hallway. As the others walked ahead, Metzger stopped with Molly short of the main entrance.
“Did you see him?” he inquired.
“Their leader? Xavier?” she asked with a furrowed eyebrow. “Oh, yes, he made certain to make his presence known to me before addressing me with his stupid French accent. He’s such an arrogant asshole that I’d love to stick a spike up his ass and let him think about it as he dies a slow, painful death.”
“That’s not very ladylike,” Metzger kidded.
“What he did to me wasn’t gentlemanly, either.”
“I left him a present before my group departed for Virginia.”
“Oh?” Molly asked as they followed the others out the double doors.
“I managed to skim his skull when I exchanged gunfire with him at the airport.”
“Center mass would’ve been preferable.”
“I know, but in the heat of the moment I felt lucky to make any contact.”
Vigilantly, the Marines led the way to the Humvees while monitoring the area around them.
“Sounds like he had a few weeks to heal, and he wasn’t bandaged up,” Molly reported. “Too bad infection didn’t set in.”
“Yeah.”
Daylight stung Metzger’s eyes momentarily when he returned to nature from the dark hallways of the school. Taking a glance behind him, he didn’t want to lay eyes on the school ever again, because it held only painful memories for him. Twice, the people who wanted the property to themselves murdered innocent people for no good reason. Nadeau and his terrorist ways trickled down to his associates, and Metzger didn’t care if any of them survived another day. The government wanted answers, but he wanted each and every one of them to pay for their sins, whether by his hand or the monsters they created devouring them.
“What was that?” Molly asked while Metzger watched where he was walking and the Marines vigilantly stared in various directions.
Metzger looked up, seeing she was looking ahead to the right, where the path led around the school. Several bushes occupied the area on the other side of the fence, where Molly’s gaze was fixed, and he saw nothing by the time his eyes locked onto the area.
“What was it?”
“I could swear someone was behind that bush,” Molly said adamantly, but quietly enough that no one else heard the words.
Based on her tone, Metzger didn’t think she sounded entirely positive she saw something for real, and after her experience the past few days, it wasn’t inconceivable that her mind played a trick on her.
Both of them continued to stare in that direction until the group reached the two vehicles, and by that time their vantage point allowed them a clearer look to see no one lurking behind either bush. Metzger considered it possible someone could have run from the bush to the far end of the fence, but such a sprint didn’t seem plausible to him.
“You’ve been through a lot,” Metzger said, trying to provide her with a reasonable excuse for her eyes playing tricks on her.
“I’m aware,” she replied evenly. “I’m ready to see this prick get what’s coming to him though.”
No one objected to Molly coming with them, possibly because Metzger was already a civilian riding with them, and leaving her behind would be an inhumane move.
Only after he packed into the back of the lead Humvee with Molly did Metzger look past the Marine driver and his brother up front to see a few undead staggering toward the school. Metzger wondered if Molly somehow spotted one of them, or if the group they now tracked sent someone to make certain their work was finished. He didn’t like the idea of their extended mission parameters being compromised, so Metzger hoped his brother put a rush on reaching the Canadian border.
If he didn’t, the entire group might be ambushed and killed within the next two hours.
Fifteen
Jillian waited as long as she dared before packing a few items around the house for travel, hoping to locate Gracine. She’d spent the past few hours recording history by hand, the only realistic way to organize her notes until she came across a typewriter and a bulk supply of ink ribbons. She tried to find time each day to put recent events to paper, but since the death of her father Jillian hadn’t found much motivation to write.
Given the choice between worrying about Vazquez, or finally confronting the events that took her father from her life, she decided to dive into her journal. Jillian usually wrote without any bias, trying to act like a journalist or historian, keeping a neutral view, but Sutton’s actions bordered on criminal, and she found it difficult not to blame him in words that mirrored her thoughts.
Eventually she finished the piece, feeling mentally and physically worn down. Only then did she realize how much time had passed since Gracine left, so she began packing some items for light travel. She put two handguns in the small satchel she decided to bring along, wishing Metzger was still with the group. He brought a sense of calm and levelheadedness to the collective, keeping them safe, and away from terrible decisions. She slept with him during their travels, and even in bed he proved a tender, caring lover. Jillian appreciated that time, and the tricks he showed her to survival in the new world.
She finished packing the satchel with a few snacks, and a knife, wishing the group had radios or some way to communicate. The house looked messy compared to when they first occupied it, possibly indicating they needed to clean up, or move to a new destination.
“Where are you going?” Luke inquired, Samantha by his side in the living room of the house the group still occupied.
“I need to find Gracine, to see if she’s found any clues about where Juan got to.”
“We should come along.”
Jillian questioned why Luke would volunteer to bring Samantha into town with potential danger around, but she quickly realized the alternative was them remaining at the house unprotected. After the death of his partner, Luke took up the mantle when he started teaching Samantha the need to keep quiet around the undead and strangers. He continued her training when it came to shooting and hiding a blade in her clothing.
Before the apocalypse, teaching an eight-year-old such things would be considered a form of child abuse. At the very least, it wo
uld flash warning signs on the moral compasses of anyone who witnessed such a thing. At the moment, Jillian considered such teachings a must, and she felt bad that Samantha was robbed of her childhood, though the alternative was joining her parents in the afterworld sooner than expected.
“We should start at Colby’s place,” Luke said, automatically making them a trio in whatever endeavor they were about to attempt. “We need to know if him and his new friend went along with Gracine, or if they’re somehow involved with why Juan disappeared.”
“What makes you think Gracine went over there first?”
Luke made a face, pursing his lips, indicating Jillian should have known better than to ask such a question.
“Fine,” Jillian conceded. “We’ll start there.”
She didn’t begrudge Gracine for continuing to visit Sutton, though she didn’t understand why everyone in her group wasn’t furious with the man. He brought some incredible survival techniques and firepower to the group, but he regularly endangered them and wasn’t very good about sharing.
Within a few minutes, Jillian selected a four-door Chevy Malibu from a few houses down the street. Her father chose to leave keys to every car in the ignition, or in the visor, making it easier on himself during his treks to town. With so many vehicles in South Hill, a massive heist would be required to make them all disappear suddenly. Luke and Samantha walked with her to pick up the blue car, and Samantha appeared liberated and happy without the oppressive shackles known as car seats from days gone by.
“How much longer can we stay in this area?” Luke inquired as Jillian drove in the direction of the houses where Sutton and Driscoll stayed.
She took the question as a roundabout way of asking how much longer Jillian planned on clinging to the memory of her parents.
“The resources won’t hold out forever,” she answered. “We’ll probably have to start thinking about our next destination as soon as next week.”
“Will that include our entire group?”
“I don’t trust the man with Colby,” Jillian responded. “I’m not sure I trust Colby, either, after what he pulled.”
Jillian pulled out to the main road that ran through town, seeing a thin plume of gray smoke to the right. Finding the sight odd, she decided to delay heading there, wanting to check at Sutton’s residence before heading the other way. She figured if Gracine had located Vazquez, they certainly would have returned, or at least dropped in to say something. His disappearance struck everyone as uncharacteristic because the entire group stayed close to home, or said something before departing, even if they were just heading to the general store.
When Jillian neared the neighboring houses, she found no one around, but pulled into one of the driveways anyway. She waited half a minute, about to back out, when Driscoll emerged from the house he occupied.
“Great,” Luke muttered sarcastically, knowing the man’s views on anyone who wasn’t Caucasian, male, and straight.
Jillian shared the sentiment, but said nothing as she stepped out of the car to speak with Driscoll, hoping for a brief encounter.
“What brings you out this way?” he asked.
“I’m looking for Gracine.”
“She stopped by and picked up your boy earlier.”
“He’s not my boy,” Jillian said testily. “How much earlier?”
“A few hours ago,” he answered as his eyes narrowed. “They aren’t back?”
“Obviously not. Did they say where they were going?”
Driscoll shrugged.
“I got the impression they were going to search the town until they found the Mexican.”
“We saw smoke on the other end of town,” Jillian reported. “I’m going to start there.”
She really didn’t want to ask for his help, because he ran with the men who killed her father. Any wildcards endangered her and the others, assuming they weren’t already in trouble.
“I can help search,” Driscoll offered. “The only thing to do around here is read books or work on the cars. I’m bored out of my skull.”
“Suit yourself,” Jillian replied. “We can check out the smoke, if you want to try the other neighborhoods.”
Driscoll gave a knowing smirk, taking notice that Jillian didn’t want him tagging along with her group. Even so, he nodded.
“Alright,” he said. “I’ll take one of the trucks and see what I find.”
Jillian didn’t say a word as she walked a few feet to the car and slid inside the driver’s seat. She hoped to find Vazquez and the others safe, possibly distracted by something they found on the other end of town, but a nagging feeling told her they would’ve checked in if they possessed good news.
Backing out of the driveway, she hoped to know something soon.
***
When Sutton came to, he felt an incredible headache, and a ringing inside his skull as the odor of the fire within the yard reached his nostrils. He tried keeping his eyes open, but light hurt them, and he wondered if his earlier skirmish caused a concussion. Even so, he fought to take in his surroundings, spying Gracine lying next to him, hands and feet bound by rope as she lay prone atop the concrete landing. This area was separate from the house, likely an outdoor gathering area with chairs and some form of table.
Hands bound behind him, Sutton felt his back against the fence that divided this property with the backyard he and Gracine used to spy on the newcomers. His feet were also secured, and one glance toward the house revealed an older woman, two large men, and one skinnier man who kept watch over the pair.
He immediately recognized the man who attacked him and rendered him unconscious. The man appeared simple, as though he followed orders without question. The other large man was also familiar, but not from recent events. When the group was all together, traveling along highways to the Navy base, they spotted a man standing across the road from them, cut off by stalled cars and other objects. He wore various animal hides and skins all along his body, even across his face, like a mask, and Sutton wondered if the man used them to mask his presence from the undead, or he also possessed mental issues.
Coverings on the man’s body included a deer pelt, either cow or horse hide, and even fur resembling that of a dog. His mask was mostly pieces of skin sewn together, with no hair of any kind. His pale blue eyes were visible through eyelets, and appeared to be the only genuine portion of him visible in his getup.
Because he ducked in and out of the house, the skinny man wasn’t available for Sutton to study. Despite the fall temperatures, he wandered around shirtless, and appeared as though he might be on drugs, or psychologically disturbed based on his nervous behavior. He never stood still for more than a second or two, but Sutton got just enough of a look at him to guess the man was in his early forties.
Sutton noticed both the unknown zombie and Vazquez remained planted in their spots, unable to attack the living, despite their best efforts. Only now, noticing him conscious, did the woman approach him, holding a pistol in her right hand. Dressed in faded clothes, complete with a beige twist front beanie, the woman looked the part of a gypsy. Likely in her sixties, she either served as a maternal figure to the three men, or indeed shared a bloodline with them.
Her skirt possessed a printed pattern of black and red with flecks of yellow, and her bohemia top was a blood red that regular wear and sunlight had reduced to a reddish orange. Instead of heels, or traditional footwear, she wore a form of leather sandals that allowed her to easily navigate the grassy yard.
By this time, Gracine began to stir, and managed to roll her body over to a position where she could see. She wriggled her way to the fence, propping herself up as the older woman walked over to them with a rather neutral expression. Sutton didn’t know if she planned on conversing with them, or shooting them and adding to the undead ornaments in her new yard.
“What were you two doing, snooping around
my new place?” she asked somewhat gruffly.
“Looking for our friend,” Gracine answered quickly, as though not trusting Sutton to give an appropriate answer.
“Did you find him?”
Neither said a word, but their eyes shifted towards Vazquez, who continued to battle his restraints and hold his arms outward, in case one of them proved stupid enough to walk into his grasp.
“He got a little too curious,” the woman said. “The boys picked him, the way a dog finds a critter in the wild to play with until it dies. The other one we picked up a few days back in South Boston. He wanted some help until he got a better look at us.”
“It does appear you murder people indiscriminately,” Gracine commented. “Most people have concerns about that kind of thing.”
Sutton shot Gracine a look that indicated she needed to choose her words more carefully.
“I didn’t realize a group of you were staying here,” the mysterious woman said. “We used to travel around, back in the day, but we weren’t welcome around here in the end.”
“Kidnapping and murder is frowned upon in most places,” Gracine noted.
“We didn’t do such things back then. This world changed things for us, and now the people who held us down aren’t around. My name is Velvet, by the way. My stage name was Dark Lady, like the Cher song, and not the color of this young one’s skin.”
“Oh, so now you be Racist Lady,” Gracine said, letting her Ebonics talk for her with a sideways shake of her head.
“Hardly, my dear. I like you already. You’re spunky.”
“What is it you want?” Sutton asked, struggling to keep his anger and irritation in check.
He should have felt fear, but this group kept them alive for a reason, and they hadn’t given him an indication they planned to make him a yard ornament.
Yet.
“I want this town for starters,” Dark Lady answered.
“What does that even mean?” Gracine asked testily.
The Undead Chronicles (Vol. 2): Darker Days Page 20
