by D. J. Molles
Murder, they screamed, but yet it was as quiet as wind. Murder for the killing kind, the killing man, the man that kills, the one with blood on his hands.
Lee looked down and could see that he was naked, and that his entire body was splashed with gore. Not only blood, but bits and pieces of bone and brain matter and ligaments and muscles. And his hands and arms were coated in it, up to his elbows, like a crimson pair of gauntlets.
“Not real,” he said. “Not real.”
But his heart did not believe him.
The voices became louder, more distinct, and at the same time they seemed to be filtering down, at first spoken by the many, and then by a dozen, and then only by a few, and then by one: Blood for the one that does what he has to do. Kill another’s body. Suicide by your own mind. Blood and murder for the one that does what he has to do…
The single speaker stepped out of the gloom now.
It was Kyle. Not as Lee had left him, dead in the roadway with a bullet hole. But after Lee had gone away. After Lee had left him in the hands of the infected hunters. After he had been eaten and torn apart. This Kyle was not a whole body, but more of a skeleton with meat and organs still clinging to it. But the face remained intact, grinning at Lee.
Maneaters acquire a taste for human flesh. Murderers acquire a taste for murdering. Killers kill. Animals eat. Everyone just does what they do. And you will do what you do, you big hero you, you man of the hour, you big swinging dick. You kill everyone you need to so you can complete your mission, but you love it, don’t you? You love it, but you just hate how much you love it.
Lee stared and felt the fear melting into anger. “That’s unfair, Kyle,” he said in a voice carved of stone and ice. “I don’t enjoy killing. But there is a… certain satisfaction when I get the job done.”
And then he had his KA-BAR in his hands.
He reached out, seizing the corpse by the throat and ramming the knife into its guts. As he jammed it repeatedly into Kyle’s masticated torso, he could hear the body whispering something very odd: Where’s Harper?
Lee came awake to a cold dawn. Flat and gray, it bore the shaky, queasy feeling of nights spent awake with nerves and anticipation. People were already moving about, Lee could hear. He knew many of them probably had slept very little, and finally given up as soon as the sky had started to lighten, thanking God that the endless night of waiting was over.
Nerves, nerves, nerves. They robbed sleep and sanity and Lee wished in vain for the day when it would not be his lot to feel them so often. The day when he might know peace and rest. Wherever that place was, on whatever day it began, he felt that he was far away from it now. Many days and many miles.
He sat up on his bedroll, trying to rub some life back into his face. His stomach still squirmed. Part hunger and part nausea from fitful sleep and a mind filled with nightmares. The anger he’d felt in the dream, the thing that had consumed his fear like a flash fire, it was still burning down inside of him.
Where’s Harper? a stranger’s voice in his head had asked. Where’s Harper? Where’s Julia?
Lee threw the blankets off himself and went to the office window. The pain in his side, the pain in his ankle, the general feeling of being beat to hell—he barely noticed it anymore. He still walked with a little limp in the morning, but the pain was just a distraction. The buzzing of a fly.
At the window he looked out. Two pickups. The Marine MATV. A few other small cars huddled in the Square, coated in frost. No sign of the vehicles left to Harper’s care. The Humvee and the LMTVs and the HEMTT with the wrecker attachment. They had not returned in the night.
Lee tapped the windowsill aggressively with a single finger. They should’ve been back already. They should’ve been back. What does that mean? Why haven’t they checked in? Are they dead? They’re fucking dead. That’s what fucking happens around here. People don’t forget to check in. They just get killed.
But Lee didn’t know that. His thoughts erred on the side of the negative and pessimistic, having just been dredged out of dreams of murder and death. Perhaps he was just rushing to conclusions. There were a million and one reasons why Harper and Julia might not have made it back yet. Not all of them included death and dismemberment.
Down in the Square, the two pickup trucks were attended by a group of men, one of which was Old Man Hughes, standing and talking. Two of the others were Nate and Devon. The remaining two were from Old Man Hughes’s group, which had come out of Dunn. The pair was young and old. Father and son, Lee remembered, though their names were escaping him.
He pushed away from the window and gathered his things from his bedroll. He stepped into his boots and laced them up. His back, stiff and twisted, complained when he yanked to tighten the laces, but that was nothing new. He worked his way into the chest rig that he’d scavenged, and then slung into his rifle. The rig only had four full magazines left. But that would change soon.
Lee reached deep into the backpack that sat next to his bedroll and extracted the GPS device. He pressed the main button and watched the screen come to life, only to switch it off again. He kept thinking that it wasn’t really going to work. That when he walked up to the bunker, it would betray him and not turn on. But so far it had worked.
“It’s gonna work,” he told himself. You can be pessimistic all you want, but I won’t have you prophesying doom over everything. This shit can still get done, and you’re going to make sure that it does. That’s all you can do.
Tucked against the cabinets where they had erected the main radio station for the Camp Ryder Hub, Lee found the four “manpack” radios. They were as valuable to him as gold might’ve been in another life, and when he’d believed that he would never access another bunker for more equipment, he had guarded them jealously. They were the only manpack radios he had, and he wouldn’t just hand them out for every scavenging or scouting mission. But this was a little different. Not only would he have access to his bunkers again, but what they were trying to do would require a little coordination, and without Harper’s vehicles with the SINCGARS radio mounts inside, Lee would have to rely on the manpacks.
These were smaller but more powerful than the manpacks he had seen used in Iraq and Afghanistan. Rather than having to strap it into a small backpack, Lee was able to hook it to an empty spot on his chest rig. It fit awkwardly, but it fit. He grabbed two more, then looked over everything to make sure nothing else was needed. Then he left the office and closed the door behind him.
In the Square, Lee stood in the center and called the gathering volunteers to himself. Hughes stood with his two men—introduced as Paul and Junior. Tomlin had appeared with three more. One of them was from the Fuquay-Varina group, but the other two were original Camp Ryder folks. The one from Fuquay-Varina was a younger guy that had toed the line with Professor White, but since had been making himself useful. He just went by Joey. Lee wasn’t sure if anyone had got a last name from him. The other two were just a couple that had been around Camp Ryder since its inception. They had followed Bus, dealt with Jerry, and fought back when the opportunity arose. His name was Jared and he had been an electrician, if Lee recalled correctly. Her name was Brandy, and Lee wasn’t sure how far back before the collapse Brandy and Jared went, but they’d been together ever since Lee could remember.
This mismatched crew was joined by Brett and his dozen others that had a bone to pick with the Followers, and Mac and his fourteen, who would be going with them to secure Newton Grove and make sure the way was clear for the Marine artillery. Brinly and his three Marines pressed in to Lee’s right.
Lee looked to Brinly. “Did Tomlin get comms with you guys?”
The older Marine nodded. “He’s got one of our radios. Won’t pick anything up until we’re in position with the arty, though. Too far to reach Camp Lejeune on that frequency.”
Lee turned to Tomlin. “So you’ve got both radios, right? Camp Ryder and Marines, right?”
Tomlin gave him a thumbs-up. “As soon as we’re cle
ar from the hospital, I’ll make the call and let the arty do its job.”
Lee directed his attention to his bait trucks. He gave the first manpack radio to Nate, and the second to Paul. “Frequency should already be set to the main communications channel,” he told them. “So you don’t need to mess with any of the buttons or knobs. Just report in every so often to make sure everything is good, and obviously when you make contact with the hordes, or if you meet any sort of resistance.”
He looked between Paul and Junior, and then Nate and Devon. “It’s not your job to fight if you hit something that wants a fight. A roadblock. Another crew. Whatever. You retreat. You go around. Keep pushing, but don’t get caught up in a fight. We don’t have the time or resources to come back you up. You’re pretty much on your own. You guys understand that, right?”
Paul and Junior nodded and shuffled their feet, but did a good job of looking confident. Devon blew a breath out of pursed lips and looked nervous. Nate seemed to be calm. But surfaces didn’t reveal much. Most folks had violent rivers flowing under seeming stillness.
Lee turned to Mac and Brett’s group, the largest group by far. “I already said it once, but it bears repeating. We have not had contact with Newton Grove in a bit. That worries me and it should worry you. Be on your toes when you get out there. If any of the Newton Grove folks are there, they aren’t going to recognize any of you guys, so don’t provoke a fight if there isn’t one. On the same note, though, we need to hold Newton Grove. I-40 runs straight through it, and that’s the path the Marines are going to be taking in. It’s gotta be held.”
Brett seemed sure of himself. “We’ll take care of it, Captain.”
Beside Brett, Mac remained silent and somewhat sullen.
Lee felt uncertain about Mac and his group, but his reservations had to be put aside. There was no time for them. “Our hand is being forced here, guys. I don’t like it any more than you do. I like a plan that I can control. Not one that I’m forced into. But this is the hand we’ve been dealt, so we’re gonna play it the best we can. We get one shot at this, guys. One shot to coordinate this shit before…” He sucked air through his teeth. “Well, I don’t need to tell you everything that will happen if we strike out. I’m sure y’all have thought about the consequences plenty enough for yourself. Probably why most of you look like you didn’t sleep last night. So just focus on what you have to do to get it done. Do whatever it takes to make this happen. It has to happen. We have to pull it off. And I believe that if anybody can, we can. We managed to build the Camp Ryder Hub—one of the safest places in the state—in the middle of complete chaos. And even if you weren’t here for building Camp Ryder? Hell, you’re still alive.” There was a brief, nervous chuckle. “That counts for something in my book. That lets me know the quality of people I’m dealing with. Survivors. And that’s all that I can ask. Keep making sure that we survive.”
Lee gestured to the group at large. “Look around, folks. This may not seem like much. Just a bunch of tired people standing in a gravel lot in the middle of Bumfuck, North Carolina. But if this state still exists a week from now, it’s gonna be because of everyone standing in this group. We made it happen. We are going to make it happen. And that’s all I gotta say about that.”
Through the cold stillness of the morning air, Lee could hear the beat of helicopter rotors. “That’ll be my ride. Does anyone have any questions? Need any clarification on anything?”
Nobody said anything.
“I’ll have one of the radios with me at all times.” He looked to Nate and Devon and stepped a little closer. “I’m not sure what’s going on with Harper and Julia’s team. They were supposed to have made it back here by now. You’re essentially going to be following their path north and west, so… I know it’s a long shot, but if you stumble across them, let me know immediately.”
Nate clapped Lee on the shoulder. “Will do, boss. I’m sure they’ll show up.”
Lee turned to Brinly. “You goin’ back to Lejeune or staying with me?”
Brinly pointed at him. “We’re stickin’ with you.”
Lee addressed the rest of the gathering as the sound of rotors grew louder and forced him to raise his voice. “Every one of you knows what’s up. It’s do-or-die time, folks.”
The crowd split and headed for the vehicles, Nate and Devon to one of the pickup trucks, Paul and Junior to the other. Brett’s and Mac’s groups made for an assortment of larger and smaller vehicles, managing to cram into three cars and a large van.
As the gathering dispersed, Lee could see Angela and Marie standing a few yards back from where they had gathered. They both looked worried. Angela’s face still bore an edge from the previous night. Lee wouldn’t fault her that.
He approached, giving a nod of greeting to Marie.
“Nobody’s heard anything from Harper or Julia?” Marie said. She was one of the toughest people in Camp Ryder, and Lee could probably count on one hand the number of times she’d showed concern for her sister being out and about and in danger. Even when she’d been the medic for Lee’s team, back when it was LaRouche and Wilson and Father Jim, and they’d been infiltrating cities and trapping the hordes… Marie had always just shrugged it off. Lee imagined that she was worried all the time, or maybe she managed to put it out of her mind. But she didn’t let it show.
It showed now, though. And all that Lee could do was shake his head. “They were supposed to be here yesterday evening. I’m not sure why… let’s just hope they’re running a little late.”
“Yeah.” She nodded once. “Sure.”
Lee looked at Angela and searched his mind for softer words, but had none. Perhaps that was best. If he showed kindness or tenderness, it would only undermine what he had so painfully accomplished the night before. He needed Angela to leave him alone. He needed her to forget about him. It would make things easier.
Carl’s bird came over the treetops, the sound suddenly becoming loud and overbearing and directly on top of them. Lee wanted to reach out to Angela but resisted that urge. She would likely pull away, anyhow. So he just gave her a grim nod and shouted over the roar of rotorwash, “Camp Ryder’s on you now, Angela. Stay on the radio. Keep everyone safe.”
If she even heard him, she gave no acknowledgment of it.
Good. It’s better that way. Let her stay angry. Let her stay mad at me.
Lee turned away without another word shared between them, and walked stoop-shouldered into the rushing wind as the helicopter from Fort Bragg touched down to pick up its passengers and make their last gambit for survival.
TEN
INFIGHTING
HARPER TWISTED TO TRY and relieve some of the pressure on his shoulders. He was bound by the wrists and by the ankles and lying in a dusty corner of the metal barn where they had parked their convoy the previous day. He’d been sitting in that same position, thinking about how uncomfortable he was for at least the last hour. But no matter how much he tried to turn himself around, one position was as uncomfortable as the next.
Inside the big metal barn were stacks of tractor implements fallen into disrepair. Entire racks filled with various tools. Shelves filled with everything from antifreeze and oil to insecticide and fertilizer. Harper stared at the fertilizer and thought about all the diesel fuel lying around and how he would love to blow this place to smoking bits, with Kensey and his goons still inside.
They had cleared an area to put their prisoners—leaving no tools or sharp objects within reach. They would have to cross the entire barn to get to anything that might be used as a weapon. And they had chained him and Julia to one of the columns that held up the roof of the barn. They weren’t going anywhere.
In the center of the barn, Kensey’s men had built a small fire. The barn’s roof had a skylight that they managed to open to let the smoke out, but the inside of the barn was still hazy and acrid when they threw some unseasoned wood on the fire. Two or three Marines would huddle around the fire while the rest remained on the perimete
r outside. They swapped out at intervals of three hours. At least it was what Harper figured was three hours.
He had not slept the entire night. He’d just lain there the whole time, back up against the wooden post, and sometimes he dozed, but he was too damn cold and too damn uncomfortable and too damn enraged to fall asleep. He kept thinking about it over and over, and every time he thought about Charlie and Dylan and the others that had been gunned down against the side of the barn, his heart rate would spike and he knew there would be no sleep.
Before the sun had set, Harper had stared at the wall and he could see all the little bullet holes, like pinpricks of light, in the side of the barn. The places where those little projectiles had punched through his people, and then through the thin metal walls. As darkness fell, the little holes that marked the places where his team had been murdered slowly disappeared. But dawn was coming, and he could see them again.
His tongue played at the empty space in his gums where one of his incisors had been until only several hours ago. When they had cleared the barn and chained them up, Harper had started yelling at them, trying to figure out what the hell they were doing, but it only earned him a spectacular right hook from Reilly, the Marine with the acne scars.
Since then, he’d kept his silence.
But he’d brooded.
Internally, he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to scream in anger or weep for the people he had lost. But he thought that maybe he was far past weeping. The last time he had, it was after Mike had killed Torri and then took his own life, right in front of everyone. Now there was just anger. The sense of being cheated. Being wronged. The feeling that none of this made any sense at all. Not the deaths of his people, and not Kensey’s sudden betrayal. None of it seemed logical. It just seemed cruel.
He knew there was a reason. There had to be a reason.
After all, me and Julia are still alive.
As dawn broke and the bullet holes in the wall became a visible reminder again, two voices became audible, coming from outside of the barn. The Marines around the dwindling fire were asleep in their bivy sacks, except for one, who was watching them. When he heard the voices, he glanced at the door to the outside with some irritation, then back to Harper.
