“Oh, God, there’s a booster seat in the back, Brayden. It’s a child’s seat!”
Brayden’s heart sank as he spotted the pink and yellow princess seat in the rear of the Suburban. The door next to it stood open and he got out of the truck with the shotgun to search for the child, fearing he was too late, but he had to look anyway.
“Where are you going?” Wanda called from the truck.
“I’m going to look around, see if I can find the child. Maybe they let her go and she’s out here somewhere hiding.” He looked at Barry and said, “Barry, you stay here and protect the truck. I have to see if she’s out there somewhere.”
Barry nodded, gripping the shotgun in his hands and scanning the road.
Brayden searched the dark forest around the pullover area for the missing child, but found no trace of her. He hated to call out and attract any of the infected, but risked it anyway; cupping his hands around his mouth, he called out for the child. “Hello! I’m Warden Brayden James, with the Fish and Game Department! If you’re out there, please let me know. We’re not going to hurt you. Can you hear me?”
No response. He waited a moment and tried again.
Knowing they had to keep moving, he returned to the truck with a heavy heart and a burning hatred for the men who had committed this atrocity, vowing to find them and vowing to make them pay as he turned the key in the ignition and the truck roared back to life.
Just as he began to back out, headlights appeared as two vehicles topped the hill above them and came charging down the mountain. A red Jeep with an enormous Confederate flag flapping overhead slid to a halt, followed by a black four-wheel drive truck with jacked-up suspension. The big black truck pulled across the parking area next to the railing of the overview, blocking Brayden’s truck in. Three armed men piled out of the black truck, shouting orders as they closed in on Brayden.
“Duck and get down on the floor!” Brayden shouted at Wanda and Barry as he punched the gas pedal, jolting the big Fish and Game truck directly at the three men bearing down on them with weapons drawn. It was a risk, he knew, but one he had to take. If I die, I’ll die fighting, Brayden thought as he floored the gas pedal.
The men didn’t expect resistance, and ran into each other trying to get clear of the Fish and Game truck, but they were trapped as Brayden plowed into them, pinning their bodies against the Jeep with the crunch of metal, shattering of glass and snapping of bone.
Brayden jolted in his seat on impact, but he threw the truck into reverse, backed away from the Jeep with a loud screech of metal, threw it back in drive, and floored it again, slinging gravel as a man in the Jeep opened fire through a disintegrated window.
The windshield shattered and Brayden felt a hot, stinging pain rip through his shoulder as another bullet whirred past his face. The tires barked as they caught traction on the pavement, causing the truck to pitch wildly. He sideswiped the black truck, nearly sending it plowing over the railing and plunging down the mountain as he gained control of the truck and made it back onto the gravel road, up the incline and around the curve. Wanda and the baby screamed together as the truck tore up the road at breakneck speed, roaring through the night. Brayden’s shoulder throbbed now, but adrenaline masked most of the pain.
“Is everyone alright?’ Brayden shouted over the flood of cool night air flowing through the shattered windshield.
Wanda nodded, her hair blowing in all directions. Barry rose from the floorboards and settled back in his seat. He had a bump on his forehead, but no serious injuries that Brayden could see.
“I think so,” Barry said as he settled in again, his eyes wide and wild with fright.
After putting some distance behind them and their attackers, and topping a treacherous rise, Brayden slung the truck around, sliding to a halt next to the drainage ditch, and threw it in park.
Wanda screamed, “What are you doing? They’ll come after us!”
Sneering against the pain of his wounded shoulder, Brayden opened the driver’s side door and jacked a round in the shotgun. “I’m through running, Wanda. This ends here and now.”
Wanda’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Are you crazy or something?”
Brayden responded flatly, “Nope.”
Barry opened the passenger side door and grabbed the other shotgun as he got out, ready for whatever Brayden wanted to do. Brayden walked around to Barry’s side and said to him, “I want you to stay by the truck.”
He turned back to Wanda, reached into the cab pointing at the dash and said, “Listen to me carefully. The headlights are off now, but when they come around this blind curve, the second they top that hill, I want you to switch on this toggle. It’ll turn on the big overhead lights.” Then he looked her in the eyes and asked, “Can I depend on you, Wanda?”
Wanda nodded, understanding now why Brayden had decided to do this. In a strange way, she felt pride for the responsibility. “Yes, I’ll be ready,” she said, nodding her understanding. “I’m with you, Brayden.”
He smiled a wry smile. “I knew you’d come around.”
His eyes settled on Barry. “When they top that hill, I want you to fire on the driver. That gun is loaded with buckshot, Barry. Shoot to kill!”
Brayden walked out into the middle of the road, eyeing the dark forest surrounding them, wary of attracting walkers. His wounded shoulder throbbed and pulsed. He could feel his heartbeat in it with each step he took, but his roaring anger outweighed his physical pain. Brayden stared up the moonlit road, seething.
Like a stalking butler, he waited.
Soon, they heard the engines roaring around the mountain, and Brayden shouldered his shotgun. Headlights skirted the trees above them just before the Jeep topped the hill.
Wanda flipped on the high beams, blinding the driver completely.
Barry and Brayden fired in unison, and a volley of hot lead laid into the driver and passenger of the Jeep. The Jeep veered from the road, its engine roaring as it plunged off into a deep ravine, toppling end over end. The big four-wheel drive truck followed behind it and fishtailed wildly trying to avoid the gunfire as Brayden approached the truck, firing nonstop into the vehicle. The rear windshield blossomed with red spray, and the truck began to roll backwards until its rear wheels dipped into the drainage ditch and the truck came to a tilted halt. The front tires spun slowly in the air, and then stopped altogether.
Brayden turned his attention toward the Jeep at the bottom of the ravine, where two of the four men had miraculously survived the wreck and were trying to climb through the shattered windshield. The two other passengers were not as fortunate. Brayden spotted a severed leg lying in the ravine, and then saw the rest of their mashed and mangled bodies.
Brayden scrambled down the ravine as the two men made it out of the Jeep, limping towards the woods attempting to flee, but a round of buckshot ripped through the first man’s hamstring, sending him sprawling in the dirt. He screamed in pain, grasping his leg. The other man dropped down to his knees and tossed away his pistol, hands raised in surrender, shouting, “Don’t shoot! Lord God, don’t shoot!”
Brayden approached them, the bright lights of the truck glaring behind him. The man with his arms raised shielded his eyes to see him better, and upon seeing Brayden’s game warden uniform and gleaming badge, he called out, “We give up, Warden. We’ll go peaceably. Now get us the hell out of here.”
Brayden didn’t respond, and seeing the cold glare in Brayden’s eyes, sensing his intentions, the man began begging for his life. “Now, hold on a minute! You’re a…”
Brayden showed no mercy. His first shot hit the man low in the stomach and nearly sawed him in half, spraying gore and bits of gut on his partner beside him. The second shot hit the man’s arm, severing it at the elbow. Brayden fired repeatedly, ignoring the pain in his shoulder, feeling only his rage, until the only sound was that of the firing pin striking an empty chamber. Then he lowered the shotgun, satisfied.
The other man tried to crawl away, but h
e couldn’t get far with a hole in his leg from the buckshot and his injuries from the wreck. Brayden walked over to him, kicked him in the side, rolling him over with a groan, and said grimly, “The child from the Suburban. Where is she?”
“They…they took her with them. You can’t do this, you’re an officer!”
“Who took her?” Brayden demanded.
The man sneered defiantly. “Go to hell!”
Brayden flipped the shotgun around and struck the side of the man’s head with the stock, sending him sprawling in the pine needles and red dirt, grasping his head.
“Now, listen with your good ear this time. Where is the child and who took her?” Brayden jammed the gun barrel in the man’s wounded leg, twisting it as he did.
The man howled in pain and started talking now. “My brothers, damn you! My brothers took her with them.”
“Took her where?” Brayden demanded, twisting the barrel again.
The man wailed and answered in a shaky, pain-wracked voice, “The cabin…on top of the mountain. Damn you to hell, Warden. You can’t do this to me!”
This bit of news came as a surprise, and Brayden knew he had to take the cabin from them if he was going to survive. “How many are at the cabin now?”
“Look,” the man said pleadingly, “we only took her for bait. Sometimes that’s the best way to distract those things…to feed ’em.”
“How many?” Brayden demanded, raising the shotgun to strike him again.
“Two! Just my two brothers stayed behind at the cabin. Look,” the man pleaded. “We can be friends here. No need for this, Warden. Hell, we’re just trying to survive here!”
Across the ravine, two of the undead clambered from the dark woods, howls erupting as they took form in the outer reaches of the headlights like grotesque ghosts. The man twisted his head toward them, pure terror shining in his face.
“Get me the hell out of here, Warden!”
As the two abominations clambered toward them, Brayden shook his head, backing away as he spoke. “Bait, you said?”
“No! You can’t do this to me!” the man pleaded again, trying to crawl on his elbows, grasping at Brayden’s pants leg. “You can’t do this!”
Brayden left him lying there and climbed back up the ravine toward the road. Barry was waiting on him at the edge of the road, wide-eyed and very much in awe. “You’re…you’re bleeding,” Barry said, nodding at Brayden’s shoulder.
Brayden looked down at his shoulder, saw that most of the right side of his shirt was wet with blood, and knew he had to make a tourniquet or risk bleeding out. “I took one to the shoulder, but I think it passed clean through without hitting bone.”
He inspected the wound and discovered that the bullet had grazed the outside of his shoulder. While it hurt like hell and bled a lot, it wasn’t life-threatening, at least not yet. He noticed the way Barry was staring at him and didn’t like it.
“Do you understand why I had to do that, Barry?”
Barry nodded. “Yes, sir. I guess I do.”
“They’ve taken the cabin. We’ll have to take it back from them now. It won’t be easy, Barry, but we have to take that cabin if we’re going to make it out of this thing.”
Brayden heard the terrified screams from the man he’d left behind, and looked back down the ravine as the undead found the bait he’d left for them.
The man’s screams didn’t last long.
“They also have the girl who was in the Suburban,” Brayden said, turning his attention back to Barry. “I’ve got to figure out how to take the cabin, and save her in the process, assuming they haven’t used her for bait yet.” The word made him grimace.
Brayden stared at the black truck, thinking. He approached the truck, opened the driver’s side door and studied the bullet-riddled body of the driver for a moment. He then reached in and dragged the driver out onto the road.
A sizable portion of the back of the man’s head was missing, and his brains spilled out onto the gravel, runny like half-scrambled eggs. He wore a bright orange hunting vest and camouflage coveralls, exactly what Brayden wanted. He had begun to put a plan together, and needed the man’s clothes.
Brayden stripped him of the vest, wiped away what blood he could, and tried it on. The fit was a little snug. The dead man was about the same height as Brayden, but not quite as thick. He then stripped the man of his camouflage pants and shirt, and turned to Barry, who was looking at him as if he’d lost his mind. “I’ll need these later.”
Barry nodded, clearly confused. “If you say so.”
“Come on. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
“Brayden!” Wanda shrieked from the truck. As he turned toward her, he spotted the straggling abominations that had come from the woods, illuminated by the headlights like some bizarre pack of starving and rotting hyenas.
“Shit!” Brayden rummaged through his pants pockets and retrieved a handful of shells, cursing himself for not reloading sooner. The things were closing in on Wanda and the infant in the truck. He yelled for Barry to kill them, but no sooner than the words left his mouth than another abomination burst from the woods directly across the road from him, closing the distance more quickly than normal. Brayden’s eyes grew wide with disbelief. The thing was running, and while it was not a fluid movement, it propelled itself forward faster than any he’d seen any of them move thus far.
Brayden dropped the shotgun and drew his sidearm from its holster, but it slipped from his blood-drenched hand and skittered across the gravel as a hot pain shot down the length of his arm. Realizing Barry was behind him and he was in the boy’s line of fire, Brayden dropped to his knees and yelled, “Kill it, Barry! Now! Shoot it!”
Barry took aim at the runner. The firing sight bouncing from his shaky hands as he tried to zero in on it over Brayden’s head, then he settled down, let out his breath and the bead sight steadied on the thing’s face. Recoil slammed Barry’s shoulder.
The buckshot found its mark, and a mist of blood hovered where the thing had once stood; its body was sprawled across the road mere yards away from them. The other abominations continued staggering toward them, their raspy howls sending a chill down Brayden’s spine. Barry opened up on them as Brayden retrieved his service pistol, and they both shot down the other abominations closing in on Wanda and the baby.
“That was too close,” Brayden said as they hurried to the truck.
As the ringing in their ears died away, a new and horrifying sound came from somewhere behind them, and they both recognized the gargled moans and wails of a huge horde of the undead coming up from the dark forest. As they swung around in the direction of the ear-splitting howls, they were both horrified by the sheer enormity of the horde of walking corpses emerging from the woods.
“We’ve got to move!” Brayden shouted as he hopped in the truck and slammed the door. Barry did the same and looked at him wide-eyed as the truck growled to life, then turned to scan the dark woods behind them and clutched his shotgun. “Hurry!”
As the headlights swept the road, Barry glimpsed what looked to be thousands of the undead things, a morbid forest of arms and teeth shambling toward them and then disappearing as the headlights washed over them. Brayden turned the big truck toward the road, gunning it as gravel showered the closest of the undead horde, leaving them behind in a wash of gray dust.
“I… I didn’t think they could move like that,” Barry mumbled numbly.
“God help us.”
Brayden reached for the CB handle and tried again to get an answer, hoping the government would help them. “This is Warden James with the Fish and Game Department. Is anybody out there? I am on Glassy Mountain with three civilians. We are not sick. We are traveling the road to the top of the mountain. There’s a cabin up there on the granite summit with ample room to safely land a helicopter. We need help. We are not sick or infected. I have a woman, a twelve-year-old boy and an infant with me.”
The radio remained quiet.
Chapter 8<
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November 9, 1:30 a.m.
As the Fish and Game truck fled into the night, Barry thought of the moonlit outlines of the undead spilling from the dark forest, falling in the drainage ditch and climbing out onto the road with the hellish glow of the fire rising up the mountain beyond them. He believed those things sensed the danger coming up the mountain somehow. He was sure of it.
He thought again of the first one of the infected he’d encountered at their camp, remembering how it had reeled away from the flames of the campfire, giving him an avenue for escape. Maybe it was like a natural survival instinct that made them afraid of it, like that of the animals in the wild.
The baby was squalling again beside him, a raspy wailing that was driving Barry mad. Wanda tried to comfort her newborn, but she was getting nowhere fast as her attempts to calm the baby proved futile.
“I think he’s hungry,” Barry said to her.
Wanda nodded and said, “He won’t feed. I’ve tried and tried. Maybe once we get settled in at the cabin, maybe after I get him cleaned up, he’ll feed.”
“I sure hope so. Poor guy,” Barry said, looking at the little squirming thing in Wanda’s arms. It seemed so fragile and innocent. Looking at the frail little guy, it angered him deeply that a baby had to come into a world like this, on a night like this.
He gazed out at the glow of the fire reflecting from the mountainside below the road, creeping steadily towards them, and said to Brayden, “I think those things are fleeing from the fire. Somehow they know it’s dangerous, like some survival instinct or something. If it’s true, they’re going to come right to us.”
“What makes you think that?” Brayden asked.
Barry told him about the abomination reeling away from the fire that had given him the chance to escape back at camp. “I saw it in his eyes. It was scared of the fire.”
“Strange, but you may be on to something,” Brayden responded as his mind worked frantically, going over his plan of attack. It wasn’t much of a plan; hell, it was more of a suicide mission. But that was just the way of it, the card he’d been dealt. They would receive no help from the government, and he had to take the cabin.
Dead Ascent (The Zombie Apocalypse Book 1) Page 7
