Transformation: Zombie Crusade VI

by Vohs, J. W.

  “So am I just imagining that something’s bothering you?”

  Luke sighed. “No, I do have a lot on my mind—things I’m trying to figure out. I was going to tell you about it once I’d worked through everything, but it’s complicated.”

  Gracie took Luke by the hand and led him into the bedroom. They sat facing each other on the bed. “You know you can tell me anything,” she said quietly. “And whatever you say can stay just between us.”

  “I’m not even sure where to start,” Luke began. “You know about the dreams I have sometimes, and how I was able to, uh, communicate with that hunter the day we rescued Terry.”

  Gracie nodded. “Yeah, we talked about that.”

  “Well, it didn’t end there. He and I had some sort of connection after that. Some of my dreams are actually his . . . memories.” Luke stopped and drew a long breath.

  Gracie looked thoughtful. “I’m not sure I understand—are you saying that hunters remember battles and feeding like you and I remember what we did yesterday or what we had for lunch?”

  “No—well that may be true, but that’s not what I’m talking about.” Luke shifted his weight on the bed. “Will remembers his life as a human.”

  Gracie let out a small gasp, and in a tiny voice said just one word, “Will?”

  Luke reached out and took Gracie’s hand in his. “Yeah, Will. William Walker—he’s from Indiana. He played football for Notre Dame, and then he was drafted by the Cowboys. He was married, and he had a child . . .” Luke’s voice trailed off, and tears welled up in his eyes. Talking about this part was too hard. He refocused and shifted direction. “Anyway, Will and a few others are following us, at a respectable distance. He’s the only one who remembers his past life, but some others are becoming more self-aware.”

  Gracie was pale and shaken. “There are hunters following us? What do you mean by self-aware? How do you know that your dreams are Will’s memories?” She stood up and began to pace around the room.

  “You need to trust me, Gracie. I know.”

  Gracie talked a mile a minute as she continued pacing. “First of all, you should have said something sooner—this is a freakin’ big deal. But never mind about that right now; I can’t imagine how awful it would be for a hunter to have memories of . . . Jesus, I know I’d just kill myself . . . so if the hunters are gaining self-awareness, can Barnes still control them? Do they still want to hunt us and eat us? We’ve run across hundreds of hunters lately, and I haven’t seen any evidence of . . . oh—” she remembered the creatures who tried to open the truck doors, “so they still want to eat us, but they can think and plan . . .”

  Luke stood and blocked Gracie’s path. “Slow down—now you know why I said this is complicated. There’s more you need to know.”

  “More?” Gracie’s eyebrows shot up.

  “I don’t have it all figured out, but I know that most of the hunters are just what they’ve always been—instinct driven super-predators, packs of killing machines for Barnes . . . but some of them are evolving differently. Some of them are becoming . . . individuals. Even so, all of them are connected in some way, and I’m connected somehow too. And the ones I can actually communicate with see me as some sort of super-alpha, a leader of leaders—”

  “Wait—you’re the one who needs to slow down. First of all, how do you communicate with them?”

  “Sometimes we talk—”

  “Speech?!” Gracie squeaked.

  “I do most of the talking, and really only with Will,” Luke quickly explained. “And I understand that kind of communication. There’s also some sort of . . . I don’t know, telepathy? That’s probably not the right word; it’s not like a mental conversation. I just get a sense of what they’re thinking, or what they know; I really don’t know how to explain it, Gracie.” He sighed in exasperation. “It’s like my mind can tune in to the hunter channel—an occasionally interactive hunter channel.”

  Gracie blinked a few times, then embraced Luke. She pulled back and gazed at him with a serious expression. “You’re going to think I’m weird, but I think I might be able to explain what’s happening to you.”

  Luke laughed out loud. “I tell you that I can communicate with hunters, and that they think I’m one of their leaders, and I’m going to think that you’re weird?”

  Gracie smiled and shrugged. “Whatever. I know I told you that my dad was kinda mystical—like you. He led a multi-faith study group on Wednesday evenings that covered lots of different spiritual topics, and I remember one time they were focusing on Kabbalah, and there was this grad student—he was super-handsome—who talked about why he was trying to reconnect with his spiritual side.”

  “Uh huh,” Luke interrupted, “and would you even remember any of this if the guy looked like Jabba the Hut?”

  “Of course I would—that would be hard to forget. I’m not sure he would have even fit though the door.” She steered Luke to the edge of the bed. “Sit and listen—this really is important. I don’t remember the guy’s name, but he was studying to be a zoologist or some specialized biologist or something like that. Anyway, he talked about the ‘hundredth monkey effect’ – I looked it up and it’s a real thing. Basically, scientists were watching Japanese monkeys on some island, and the monkeys were ignoring fruit that washed ashore covered in sand, even when they were hungry. Then one smart girl monkey picked up some sand-covered fruit, washed it in a well, and ate it. Then other monkeys, starting with the younger ones, copied her behavior until one day all the monkeys just started washing the fruits. Here’s the main point—it wasn’t just the monkeys on this one island, but also the monkeys on the surrounding islands, even though the different monkey colonies didn’t have any contact with one another. It was like the monkeys had some sort of collective consciousness, and at some point, when enough individual monkeys had learned the behavior, some switch flipped and they all knew it.”

  Luke was intrigued, but skeptical. “Don’t monkey’s swim? Couldn’t a monkey from the first island have visited another island? I just think it’s too convenient that researchers just happened to be watching when all that went down . . .”

  “Are you purposely missing my point? Maybe the monkey story doesn’t prove anything about the monkeys, and maybe I remembered it wrong, but what you were describing with the hunters—what you called the hunter channel—could make sense if there’s some sort of group subconsciousnes for hunters.”

  “Okay, I can see that. And now I also see that how it happens is less important than how we can use it.” Luke scooted back on the bed and propped himself up with a pillow. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about this sooner. I was wrong to try to handle it alone—if I need you to trust me, then I need to trust you too.”

  Gracie crawled up next to Luke. “I do trust you, Luke, but I still want to hear every single detail about every dream, every encounter, and every conversation that you’ve ever had with—”

  Luke kissed Gracie, stopping her mid-sentence. Finally, he leaned back and pulled her on top of him. “I promise I’ll tell you everything you want to know, but it will probably take the rest of the night. I think we should take a little talk-break—you up for that?”

  Gracie nuzzled Luke’s neck. “I guess I am if you are . . .”

  Twelve miles to the west there was no nuzzling going on between Earl and Brock Merrill. The two experienced fighters had passed the turn-around point of their mounted patrol, a route that had taken them through the southern edge of the Hagerman National Wildlife Refuge, a rugged scrub-woods along the southwestern shores of Lake Texoma. The plan was to push through to the small town of Whitesboro, a currently uninhabited hamlet that continued to show up in reports from long distance patrols detailing heavier than usual hunter-activity. Ranger Sanders had asked the veterans to conduct the mission for him, with explicit instructions to do nothing but observe and report. If hunters were building up in the town, the cavalry needed to deal with them before spring planting.

  Darknes
s was settling over Whitesboro as the brothers urged their mounts to hurry through the cluttered streets so they could set up camp someplace that didn’t put off such a threatening vibe. A few packs of hunters had been spotted in the Wildlife Refuge earlier in the day, but the creatures either hadn’t seen the small patrol or had enough experience with horse-mounted humans to leave the pair alone. For their part, the brothers had no desire to chase down hunters in the brush; Sanders had indicated that Whitesboro was the place he was really interested in learning more about. Earl and Brock had seen little sign of the flesh-eaters’ presence beyond a few footprints in fields bordering the town.

  Earl had seen enough. He nudged his horse closer to his brother and whispered, “Ain’t nothin’ here, man; Sanders musta got some bad intel.”

  “We need to be sure,” Brock warned. “There’re farmsteads just four miles south of here; can’t have aggressive packs using this place as a home-base or nothin’ like that.”

  Earl spat a stream of tobacco juice onto the road and slowly nodded his agreement. “Well, I don’t much like the feel of this place; maybe it’s all the bones or somethin’, but it feels like this town ain’t got nothin’ in it but the dead.”

  “Yep,” his brother muttered just before they heard what sounded like a woman’s scream from some nearby house.

  “Where the hell did that cry come from?” Brock demanded.

  Earl had pulled his rifle and now used it to point down a side street to their right. “Somewhere over there.”

  They heard another shriek. The two fighters hadn’t survived this long by being impulsive, but the thought of a woman in trouble somewhere in this spooky town spurred them into action. They moved toward the sound at a steady trot, finally narrowing the location down to a ranch-style home that appeared to be buttoned up tight. Brock leapt from his horse, clipped on a lead, and expertly tethered it to the porch with a quick release knot. He didn’t wait for his brother to finish the same maneuver before jogging to the side door beneath the carport. He almost kicked it open before Earl, who was two steps behind him, barked some common sense advice. “Try the handle, idiot!”

  Brock reached up and turned the doorknob, his chagrined expression growing more pronounced when the handle easily turned. As the door slowly swung open they heard the woman again, this time from a bedroom at the end of a narrow hall. Earl nodded to his brother. “I got your six.”

  Brock silently laid his rifle on the sidewalk and pulled his revolver; six shots were better than one inside a building. Earl followed his brother’s lead, drawing his own sidearm as they slowly entered the home and began scanning the rooms for signs of trouble. Another scream shattered the gloomy silence inside the musty house, but the experienced scouts carefully cleared each room as they closed the distance to the distressed woman.

  They finally reached the bedroom from which the screams were emanating, and Brock looked at Earl one more time before trying the knob. His brother nodded his encouragement, and Brock entered the room with the barrel of his gun pointing toward the floor lest he accidentally shoot the woman inside. In the near darkness, they could see little but the silhouette of a person sitting on the edge of the bed, facing away from them. Her hair was long and ratty, and she had taken all her clothes off. Earl softly called, “Lady, you all right?”

  The figure turned to face them, and even in the poor light the brothers instantly realized that this lady was a flesh-eater. As if to mock them, the scar-covered hunter screamed one last time. The sound seemed to reverberate in their ears as the men raised their weapons, but the creature on the bed was fast. She was flat on the floor before the first shots were fired well above her, and then all hell broke loose. Two powerful hunters leapt upon Earl from an open closet to his right; his throat was ripped open before he even hit the carpet.

  Brock saw his brother fall from the corner of his eye as he tried to draw a bead on the creature scurrying around the edge of the bed. But the hunter stayed low, and his instincts warned him that his time was up. He jumped past his dying brother’s attackers and ran for the door leading outside. He was fast, but he wasn’t as fast as a fully evolved hunter. The female that had lured him into this trap was on him before he took five steps, hitting him with a flying tackle that sent both of them tumbling to the floor. As they rolled across the linoleum in the kitchen, Brock instinctively flung his left arm in front of his face to avoid the snarling flesh-eater as she lunged for his throat. Her teeth latched onto his arm with incredible strength, snapping his wrist and shaking him like a pit bull.

  Brock didn’t panic, even though in the recesses of his consciousness he knew he was a dead man. His warlike nature pushed all thoughts but those of savage resistance from his mind as he lifted the revolver still firmly grasped in his right hand. He shoved the barrel into the temple of the hunter and blew a hole through her skull. Blood, bone, and gray brain matter flew from the exit wound across the dull but smooth kitchen floor. Brock still had to pry the dead monster’s teeth from his savaged wrist. His blood was everywhere, dripping from great strips of flesh torn loose by the creature’s frenzied assault.

  He woozily climbed to his feet, keeping the barrel of the revolver pointed in the direction from which he’d run. He could hear the sounds of the big males devouring his brother, and for a brief moment toyed with the idea of trying to kill the bastards before leaving. But he was a soldier; he had a mission. Ranger Sanders needed to know how the hunters had lured them into this trap. Plus, Earl had left behind a wife and two-year-old son. They needed to know what had happened out here as well. He finally stumbled outside, thankful to find their horses skittish but unmolested. He kept an eye on the house as he pulled a first aid kit from his bag and wrapped pressure bandages on his most severe wounds. Throughout the process, he continued to hear the tearing and crunching as the hunters tore his brother to pieces. He needed three attempts, but he was finally able to mount his horse. He felt nauseous and weak, but with one hand on his own reins and the other leading his brother’s steed, he rode toward Denison at a canter. God, he prayed, give me fifteen more miles and the strength to give my report . . .

  CHAPTER 24

  Luke met up with Wyatt for an early breakfast.

  “You certainly have a healthy appetite, son,” Wyatt observed. “Where’s your wife this morning?”

  “She decided to try to catch up on her sleep—your beds are a lot more comfortable than the accommodations we’re used to.” Luke gulped down half a glass of chocolate milk. “And your food is a lot better too.”

  Wyatt nodded and patted his rounded stomach. “Yeah, the world may have gone to hell, but I haven’t been able to lose more than ten pounds.” He leaned forward. “Was Gracie serious when she said that your army could use some good cavalry?”

  Luke was momentarily surprised, but answered honestly. “Well, yeah, cavalry could help us a lot if done correctly. Jack was working on cavalry training back home, but we kept getting interrupted by the war.”

  “What does ‘correctly’ mean in this context?”

  “First of all,” Luke explained, “I can’t mess with any independent commands right now. Any unit travelling with this army has to be under my control. Otherwise, I can give them directions to the UP rail line and they can catch a ride to Utah or Indiana; they could be attached as an independent regiment or battalion there.”

  “I understand that.”

  “Secondly, they’d have to be armed and armored in the same manner as the rest of the troops in the army. I envision cavalry as mounted infantry pulling double duty as scouts.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “They’d have to participate in all the training everyone else does, including physical training.”

  “Agreed.”

  Luke managed to keep a neutral expression. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “How many troopers are we talking about here?”

  “Can you incorporate two hundred if we can outfit them?” />
  Luke raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?” His mind was spinning with new possibilities. “Can we stick around here for a month or so to train?”

  “You can stay for two months if you’d like.”

  “One should be fine—we can’t get too far off schedule.”

  “Are you interested in more regular soldiers if we can equip them?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Good, I have no doubt that you’ll find at least two hundred outstanding recruits here, especially since thousands will volunteer and you can afford to be picky.”

  Luke’s shock over the numbers being offered finally interrupted the banter. “Thousands?”

  “We have a lot of young people here, Luke, young men who need a purpose. I’m not sure about their long-term employment prospects in this agrarian economy we’ll all be livin’ with for a while. Well, at least as long as we have fuel for the tractors. Sendin’ a levy off to war will relieve some of the pressure on law enforcement and the council.”

  “I’ll gladly accept new recruits, but I’d like to suggest that you have a home guard train with us; we’ve done that at every other community we’ve recruited from. Once you get your irrigation in order, send scouts all along the river to organize; that’ll keep them out of your hair and establish alliances for the future.”

  One of Wyatt’s men approached the table and handed the Ranger a note. Wyatt read it and frowned. “Looks like a couple of my men didn’t make it back from a patrol last night—their horses made it home, though. Eaters, hunters, or whatever you call ‘em, won’t pass up tasty horseflesh if they can help it. I’ll go check this out, and I’ll pull together some folks to help organize transfers and recruitment to your forces. We’ll aim to get started tomorrow.”

  Luke stood up as Wyatt prepared to leave. “I just want you to know how grateful I am for everything you’re doing for us. I think fate brought us together. You’re cut from the same mold as Stephen Carlson, Jack Smith, and a number of other folks at their sides.”