Season of Rot

by Eric S. Brown

  “What the hell is going on?” he shouted, not quite ready to hazard a look outside.

  Matt slammed into the side of the car near the shattered window. He was panting and nearly out of breath. Warren glared up at him, silently demanding an explanation. Outside the car, the gunfire had stopped.

  “Are you okay, sir?” Matt managed to ask.

  Warren stepped out of the car and, brushing chunks of glass off his clothing, took a look around. The sun was just beginning to stir in the morning clouds. Jenkins and Scott stood out in the field, well beyond the camp perimeter. Behind Warren, inside the large circle of vehicles which made up the convoy, the camp was a flurry of activity as people started their day. Clearly, they weren’t under attack, which left Warren more than a bit pissed off at the rude awakening. Only a single body lay between him and his men in the field.

  “Jenkins didn’t mean to, sir,” Matt said, sensing Warren’s anger. “I was relieving them from their watch and somehow one of the dead slipped—”

  Warren started marching towards the two men in the field, and Matt fell in behind him without another word.

  “Mornin’, boss,” Jenkins said, grinning. Scott stood at his side, looking like a child who knew he was about to be dragged to the principal’s office for a spanking. “You sleep well?”

  Warren punched him, and Jenkins staggered backwards, spitting out a bloody tooth. He recovered quickly, but not fast enough to dodge the butt of Warren’s rifle; it hammered his stomach, and he collapsed to his knees.

  Warren shoved the barrel of his M-16 into Jenkins’s face. “I’m only going to ask you once. What the fuck happened?”

  Before Jenkins could reply, Scott said, “One of the dead was headed into camp. We didn’t see it until it was long past us. Jenkins took it out, but he missed with his first shot. It took two to hit it.”

  Warren gritted his teeth. He had lost count of how many times he’d given this same talk to the sentries. “Didn’t I teach you that if it was only one or two or a handful, you reposition yourself between them and the convoy before you start shooting? The things are too damn slow to be a threat in small numbers.”

  Scott and Matt nodded, but Jenkins spit another mouthful of blood onto the ground and looked up at Warren as if ready to tear out the man’s throat with his bare hands. “I got the fucker, didn’t I? Isn’t that what counts?”

  “And you nearly got me in the process. If your shot had been a bit lower, we would not be having this conservation and the convoy would be another man down. There are so few of us left already, do you really want to see somebody else die from you being stupid? I, for one, have seen enough death to last me a lifetime.”

  Jenkins didn’t answer. He got to his feet and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “You’ll be more careful next time,” Warren informed him, then glanced at Matt. “You sure that corpse is the only one?”

  “Pretty sure. The gunfire will draw any more in the area to us, but I don’t think we’re in any danger. This area was mostly deserted even before the rats.”

  “Jenkins, stay with him. You’re going to be pulling double duty today. Scott, go and get some rest. If any of you need me, I’ll be trying to find some damn breakfast before the next round of shit hits the fan.” Warren turned to look toward camp.

  Almost fifty vehicles, ranging from a beat-up Dodge Shadow to a tank and two APCs, formed the defensive circle around what could be the last of the human race. There were less than one hundred and fifty people in the convoy, but right now that small number seemed like a whole city to him. Every one of them had their own tales of loss and grief. No one had escaped the horror that had swept over the world like wildfire, and yet they continued on. Just like him, he guessed, they were too stubborn to die. Maybe it was just the survival instinct, or maybe it was some last spark of hope that kept them going.

  Warren had lost everything he’d ever cared about, and he would never find a new life for himself—he accepted that. He had been a solider before Hell rose up and spilled out over the earth, and he was still a soldier now. He had a job to do, and he was damn well determined to keep these folks alive for a shot at the future.

  Inside the camp, families were eating breakfast together. People were trading goods and services. Gerald and his crew were working on one of the older trucks in an attempt to keep it viable. Not a single person appeared to have been bothered by Jenkins’s shots. And why would they be? Warren wondered. The roaming dead were as much a part of everyday life as living on the run. It was simply safer to be on the road and moving. The convoy had the arms and manpower to handle any number of the dead or rats short of a massive wave, and that was an unlikely thing to encounter here in the middle of nowhere. The rats were the real danger, and because of them, putting down roots was like signing your own death warrant. The rodents had a tendency to show up on your doorstep, and they always found a way to get inside. They liked enclosed places where their prey had nowhere to run.

  “Boss?” Scott asked.

  Warren tore himself from his thoughts. “What?”

  “Are we moving out today?”

  Warren forced a smile, trying to make a joke of his answer. “Don’t know. I would guess so. We’ve been here too long already. We stay much longer and the rats may try to make a go for it.”

  Scott laughed.

  Warren shook his head, wishing he were joking, then made his way toward camp.

  #

  Sitting in the command APC, Mike took a sip of the instant coffee in his cup, essentially swill warmed by one of the campfires. People these days loved fires. He imagined they thought the flames might keep the rats away—they just didn’t or couldn’t understand how intelligent the pests had become.

  No one knew how or why it happened. In the beginning, there were only a few scattered reports of rats attacking people, lost in the whirlwind of disasters on the nightly news. It wasn’t until a massive swarm of rats consumed every tenant living in a large apartment building in New York that people started to notice. Even then, the changes in the rat species were far overshadowed by the walking dead. As the corpses swept across the nation, eating everyone in their path, the authorities told people either to stay in their homes and wait for help or travel to one of the safe houses set up by FEMA and their ilk; the general population followed the advice and unwittingly gift-wrapped themselves for the rats. Rising up from the cellars and basements, or in some cases just pouring through windows, the rats devoured everyone they found. Humanity had lost the war before it ever began.

  It wasn’t at all like the movies. If you were bitten by a dead person, you didn’t contract some virus or disease and become one of them. The dead were merely the tools of their rodent masters, foot soldiers to a greater power. However, if a rat bit you, you did rise again when you died. The disease gestated until the death of its host, after which it rewired the host’s brain to carry out the will of the rats. Scientists suspected it was some kind of evolutionary glitch, something new the rats secreted when they bit someone, something that acted like a virus but wasn’t. It made the dead into cattle for the rats, both a food supply and a mindless herd. The scientists theorized endlessly on the cause—at least until the demons showed up.

  Mike shuddered as he thought about it and thanked God the demons were small in number, even now, five months after the world had crumbled into Hell.

  Mike set down his coffee on the APC’s dashboard and started crunching the numbers in his head again. Any way he looked at it, they were pretty much screwed if they didn’t reach the base soon, and they would need to raid another town if they were going to keep going at all.

  Mike turned and gazed out the passenger window to see Warren staring back at him. “How long have you been standing there?” Mike asked as he climbed out of the vehicle.

  Warren showed him two rows of tobacco-stained teeth. “Long enough to see from the look on your face things are worse than I thought.”

  “You’re too good at
your job, Warren.”

  “How’s that?”

  “We have too many people and not nearly the food or fuel we need to keep moving. If it hadn’t been for you and your men, most of us would be dead by now.”

  Warren grunted. “I could go shoot some people at random if you like.”

  Mike chuckled, though a part of him wondered if Warren was serious. “No, really. We need fuel, Warren. Most of the vehicles are running on fumes.”

  “You sure this place we’re headed to is worth all the trouble, Mike?”

  “I’m sure. With a few modifications, the rats will never be able to get inside unless we let them in. This place is solid. I only hope the military isn’t waiting on us there. They may not be too friendly, but I can tell you, the place should be stockpiled with enough supplies to keep us alive and safe for years. It’ll give us time to figure out how to beat the little bastards once and for all.” After a short pause, he said, “But in order to get there, we’ll have to make another raid. It’s the only option.”

  “We lost a hell of a lot of good men last time, boss.”

  “I know.” Mike grabbed his map from the APC and rolled it out on the hood. He pointed out three hand-drawn circles. “I’ve been giving it a lot of thought during the four days we’ve been camped, and these, I think, are our safest targets.”

  Warren studied the map. “Jericho is out. That place is overrun, you can bet on it. And Livingston… I wouldn’t want to take a team that far from the convoy.”

  “Well then, I guess Greensburg is the target,” Mike conceded.

  “Yep, but the convoy’s been here too long. We’ll have to risk moving as we hit it. Divide up what fuel is left so you guys can get on the road while my team is gone.” Warren placed a finger on the map. “I say we move the whole convoy here, somewhere closer to Greensburg but not too close, maybe around the Jones Creek area. I want to be able to hightail it back to you as quick as possible if there’s trouble on either end.”

  “Okay. That’s settled. I’ll make the announcement and we should be able to make Jones Creek by nightfall if we hurry… But you should know there’s no room for failure in Greensburg. If you return without the fuel, it’s over.”

  Warren nodded and went off to gather his team for the job.

  #

  Michelle sat up, pushing the sleeping bag off her. She clasped her hands and stretched them high above her head as her long blond hair spilled over her shoulders.

  “Good morning, sleepy head,” Benji said. He handed her a bowl of oatmeal, which he had just taken off the fire. “Looks like we’re having your favorite again.”

  Michelle made a disgusted face and reluctantly took the bowl. “It stopped being my favorite a long time ago. Any chance you have some eggs and bacon?”

  “We might if you started sleeping around for it,” he joked. She was his sister, but he wasn’t blind to the fact that most men in the convoy would give almost anything to wake up beside her. Michelle wasn’t thin but she wasn’t chubby either, one of those biological marvels that filled out perfectly in all the right places. Her blond hair and blue eyes were an added bonus.

  Unfortunately for the men of the convoy and Benji’s stomach, she was also a tomboy, if that term could be applied to someone slightly past twenty-five years old; she had fought more than her fair share of the dead, and had kept her brother on this side of the grave all by herself until they’d stumbled upon the convoy. But even then, she wasn’t content to just sit back. She’d joined Warren’s team of soldiers as fast as she could and began to train under Warren himself.

  “Don’t mess with me this early in the morning, little brother, or I might have to beat the shit out of you,” she said.

  Benji feigned shock. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Just because you’re gay doesn’t make you a lady, Benji, and the glasses aren’t going to save you either if you keep screwing around with me.” Michelle laughed and plunged a spoonful of oatmeal into her mouth.

  Benji fished a cigarette from his jacket pocket and lit up.

  Michelle waved angrily at the cloud of secondhand smoke. “I thought you didn’t have any of those left.”

  “So did I,” Benji replied. “I had some luck last night and won nearly a full pack off that redneck you work with.”

  “Jenkins? How the hell did you end up playing cards with him?”

  “Don’t know. He just decided to join the game last night at Mike’s. Had a run of bad luck and kept going like he couldn’t stand to lose to the little queer guy.”

  “Don’t fuck around with him, Benji, I mean it. The guy’s on the edge.”

  He waved a hand dismissively. “He’s harmless. It’s your damn boss that gives me the creeps. That guy not only redefines the term bad ass, but the word cold too.”

  “Warren’s okay.”

  “How would you know, sis?” Benji grinned. “I haven’t met anyone in this convoy who knows anything about the man other than he was some kind of elite soldier or something. So is there something you’d like to share with me, or…?”

  Michelle shrugged. “He’s okay, Benji. He’s the kind of guy you trust. That’s all I know.”

  “Better you than me, I guess.” Benji set down his already empty bowl. “It’s going to be a busy day, sis. They just finished making the announcement that we’re moving out.”

  “Shit.” Michelle laughed. “I was just beginning to break in the patch of dirt I’ve been sleeping on.”

  #

  After the announcement that the convoy was moving out and people began to pack, Mike saw Gerald storming across the camp towards him. He wished he could avoid the man, but the camp simply wasn’t that big.

  “We’re not ready,” Gerald told him. “I got one truck half torn apart that we’re still trying to fix, at least four cars need work on their tires, and there’s—”

  Mike cut him off. “Look, Gerald, I’m sorry. I didn’t ask for all this anymore than you did, but we have to move and we have to move now. Staying is too great a risk. We’ll leave the truck if we have to. Just do the best you can.”

  “Just give me one more day,” Gerald pleaded. “We can’t keep leaving vehicles behind. Pretty soon we’re not going to have room for everyone if we do.”

  “What do you want me to do, Gerald? I know you’re working your ass off—we all are—but if we don’t reach the base, and soon, we may never make it.”

  Gerald sighed, knowing he’d lost the argument. “All right. But please tell me we’re not moving far. Some of the cars can’t handle much more yet.”

  Mike shook his head. “We’re just headed up the road to Jones Creek, far enough to buy us some time and get closer to Warren’s next raid.”

  “Can I go with them this time?” Gerald asked. “Those guys don’t know crap about what parts we need to keep going in the long run. I swear they must never read the lists I give to Warren.”

  “Gerald…”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m too important and all that crap. You’d think the apocalypse would’ve spared more than one engineer, eh?”

  “Oh, I think one’s quite enough if they’re all like you, Gerald.”

  He let Mike’s remark slide and changed the subject. “Guess I better go give Warren’s jeeps a once-over before his team heads out, huh?”

  “I think that would be a good idea.”

  Mike smiled as the engineer hurried off, leaving him alone with his thoughts. The man could be a damn pain in the ass, but Mike needed him—the whole convoy did—so there was no choice but to endure his constant whining about the state of their equipment. Besides, he was right: everything was falling quickly into disrepair.

  #

  “Good luck,” Mike said as Warren slid into the passenger seat of one of the convoy’s three military jeeps.

  “You too,” Warren said. He glanced at the madhouse around them, people loading up the last of their things and making sure nothing was left behind for the rats to find. He didn’t like leaving the mai
n group with less than half of its trained defenders, but he had no choice if they were to survive long term.

  Raising his hand over his head, Warren gave the rest of his team the signal to roll out. His driver, Matt, fired up the jeep’s engine and led the others onto the road towards Greensburg.

  “Let’s hope they make it back,” Benji said, walking up to Mike.

  “Warren always comes back.” Mike placed an arm around the younger man’s shoulder. Though many in the convoy didn’t approve of their relationship, Mike had stopped trying to hide it. Some secrets couldn’t be kept in such close quarters. “Let’s get to the command vehicle and get this show on the road.”

  Two

  Warren flicked the lighter, taking a deep drag off what might be his last cigarette as the sun sank in the sky. He stood on the hilltop above Greensburg, looking into the remains of the town, and Michelle and Matt stood at his side. Behind them, the three combat jeeps were parked in a row; Jenkins and Daniel leaned against one, inspecting their weapons.

  Scott had gone ahead on foot to recon the outskirts of the town and should have been back by now. The team hadn’t seen or heard any signs of trouble from below, but Warren could feel tension in the air, the fear and dread that gripped soldiers just before the shooting started. “How long?” he asked.

  “He’s been gone nearly two hours,” Michelle said, and Warren grunted in reply.

  “We got a plan, chief?” Jenkins taunted him from behind.

  “How about you drink a nice tall glass of shut the fuck up?” Matt said, quoting one of his favorite films.

  Jenkins pushed away from the jeep and stood up straight, his cheeks red with anger.

  “Enough,” Warren said. “My guts tell me there’s a demon behind Scott being late. Maybe more than one.”