by Tom Calen
Turning in desperation, Paul found himself surrounded by a legion of human animals. Shooting wildly, each shot hitting its mark, he cried for help as the monstrosities ambled forward. He knew escape was his only option. Quickly he retreated, running hard across the soft earth of the camp. Arms and teeth lashed out at him, working desperately to reach him. His ammunition expended, he fought the attackers off as he ran. Minutes passed, hours passed, and still he ran through the night.
An endless stream of Tils lined the path until finally, he reached their end. A thick wall of infected blocked the way. The circle of death closed in around him as he spun about, seeking an opening of escape. One figure stepped from the endless pack, its dark hair flowing freely in the crying wind. Light from an unseen source—Could it be day already? his mind questioned—lit the beast’s face.
“No!” he shouted, a cry of sorrow and guilt.
The slender figure advanced, each step purposeful and exact. The will to defend himself dissipated as he stared into brown eyes in which he had once seen a living future. A breath apart, she placed her twisted hands on his neck. Paul felt the warm stream of tears rolling down his cheek followed by the burning pain as Lisa’s teeth sank into him.
* * *
Thrashing wildly, Paul woke from the torment, the cool air of the night chilling his sweat soaked body. Bestial howling tore through his hearing. As his eyes adjusted to the small fire that lit the tent, he saw a shadowed form standing a few feet from him. Jumping to action, he ripped the gun from his waist as the shadow shouted.
“Sir! It’s Wes!”
Clarity flooded him as he recognized the man. Hardin’s face was a mask of shock, a realization of how close he had been to death.
“Wes… I’m…” Paul began in apology, but another howl sounded in the distance. “What’s going on?” he asked, stepping towards the exit.
Still shaken from the moment, Wes stumbled an explanation. “It started a few minutes ago. Our lookouts haven’t seen any movement, though.”
Paul tossed aside the tent flap, his two guards more tensed than usual, and broke into a jog towards the camp’s northern perimeter. Recognizing that his pace only furthered the concern of those he passed, he slowed himself to a brisk walk, though his skin crawled with eagerness to reach the border.
A crowd of men had taken their assigned position by the time he joined the northern line. “What do we have?” he asked as he stared out into the torchlit landscape.
“No movement, sir,” confirmed a man Paul did not know. “They’re probably still a mile or two out, but they’re avoiding our lights and lookouts.”
Courage-sapping screams continued to breach the darkness, mostly from the north, but other cries answered from the east and west. Answered? he questioned silently. As unreal as it seemed, he could find no other explanation for the guttural voices. The Tils were communicating with each other. Having successfully avoided detection when one had breached the camp, Paul doubted the Tils would reveal themselves without some purpose. As adept at stealth as the infected had become, they could have easily reached the camp’s sightlines before the Horde realized. Either they’re gathering their forces, or simply trying to unnerve us. Neither option was a comfort. My God, how advanced are they now?
Forcing his voice to measured calm, Paul issued an order. “Notify the camp to be on high-alert. We sleep in shifts with at least half the camp armed and in position. It’s near dawn,” he continued as he became aware of the lighter sky to the east. “And I don’t think they will make a move in daylight.” Or would they come when we least expect it? There was too much unknown about this enemy’s capabilities, and he began to fear that no extent of planning would prove sufficient. Before he could finish his commands, one of the camp’s vehicles came speeding towards them.
“Sir, there are lights coming up from the southern road,” a silhouetted man shouted from the automobile. With a curse, Paul jumped into the passenger seat, while his guards stood in the Jeep’s back holding the roll bar.
Reaching the opposite end of the camp, Paul was handed a pair of binoculars. Even without them he spied nearly a dozen sets of headlights moving at a steady pace towards the camp. Raising the glasses to his eyes, he saw that several of the vehicles bore the spray-painted white “H” of the Horde. Gritting his teeth in anger, the tired leader ordered the Jeep’s driver to meet the caravan. There was no way Derrick could have reached the rendezvous and made his return in so short a span of time. If he brought those people back to be slaughtered because he wanted to be in the fight, I’ll kill him myself, his thoughts seethed as the Jeep crossed the distance.
Chapter Sixteen
Brief stories were exchanged, the sharing of a year’s worth of events for Derrick and Mike, Erik, and Lisa. Mike could feel Lisa’s sorrow over learning that for weeks Paul had assumed her dead, the guilt compounded from the agony she had caused her love by leaving, weighted heavy on her. For his part, Derrick took the news of her prior involvement with the virus’ development in casual stride. In fact it was his unwavering acceptance of Lisa, and his clear lack of animosity towards Mike, that served to erase any anger the former teacher still held toward the woman. For the first time since leaving Miami all those months ago, he felt a reminder of what it was like to be whole. At least for a time, the darkness that had shadowed his heart fled under the light of the reunion of old friends.
Not all was joyous, though. Derrick struggled to fight back tears when Erik told him of Andrew’s passing. In the chaos that immediately followed the outbreak, he had taken the young boy under his protective wing. Mike had been forced to step away from the group then, the emotional memories of Andrew’s final moments were too freshly scarred. Eventually, the conversation turned to the present and the series of dangers it held.
“So there’s no rendezvous with the Mohawk?” Derrick asked.
Shaking her head, Lisa explained. “The men on the ship worked for Duncan. The only passenger they were to deliver back to New Cuba was me.”
“And this… ARC? You say it can stop the Tils?”
“Yes,” Mike answered. “But it didn’t work last night, and we’re not sure if it can be fixed. Truthfully, we don’t know what’s wrong with it, and none of us have the skills to tinker with it.”
Taking the ARC from Mike’s outstretched hand, Derrick turned the device over. “There are some tech guys with the Horde. They might be able to get it working again.”
“Speaking of,” Erik joined the discussion. “Paul is really the leader of the Horde?”
“Not the best name, I know. It’s different now though, the Horde that is. Before we took down the old leader, the group was mostly forced into being marauders. I followed them for a while after they ambushed you guys in Miami. Eventually, I joined them to try and bring Drennan, the old leader, down. When Paul and Hicks showed up, we put a plan in place. Things happened pretty quickly, and after Drennan was killed the group needed a new leader, and they wanted Paul.”
“So, Hicks stayed back with Paul and the Horde?” Mike asked. From what little he knew of the man, or what little the man had allowed of himself to be known, he was surprised to hear the loner had voluntarily aided the coup.
As soon as he asked the question, he wished he could pull back the words. Derrick’s features darkened noticeably as he shook his head and spoke with gruff tones. “No, he and I were on a scouting mission and… and he died a couple days ago.”
Segueing away from the other man’s evident grief, Mike quickly asked for details regarding the Til force approaching the Horde’s encampment. The sheer numbers of the infected were startling, but he found himself agreeing with Paul’s assessment.
“From what we’ve seen,” he said. “Paul’s probably right. The Tils have advanced enough to know there is safety in numbers. With so many years since the outbreak, a force that size could very well be all that remains of the infected.”
“He’s gearing up for a last stand,” Derrick told them with concern
in his voice. “But if there are really hundreds of thousands of them, I don’t know how long the Horde will be able to hold them off.”
“Unless we can get there and get the ARC working again,” Erik added.
“We’d still need to be able to broadcast the frequency. And probably even further than we did at Fort Polk to cover an army that size,” Lisa commented.
“First things first,” Mike cut in. “How far back to the Horde?”
“’Bout half a day’s ride. What about them?” Derrick tilted his head back towards the refugees that were milling about and tending to sore feet and cramped legs. “We don’t have cars for everyone, so we had to keep a slow pace and alternate walkers and riders.”
“We can’t leave them,” Mike said. “The band of Tils that attacked us last night might still be out there. Give them another hour to eat and rest, then we head back to the Horde.”
Derrick nodded in agreement and moved off to pass the command. As word spread through the caravan, Mike saw the previously smiling faces turn to worried stares. They thought they were headed to safety, and now they are forced back to the nightmare.
* * *
During the course of the hour, Mike moved to speak alone with Derrick, who had just broken away from a conversation with some of the refugees.
“Listen,” he began in sincere apology. “I didn’t mean to take over before. This is your group and I shouldn’t have been issuing any orders.”
As they walked side by side away from the main party, Derrick replied. “Mike, as far as I’m concerned, you’re the leader whenever you’re around. I’ve only been Paul’s second for a month. You kept us safe for over six years.”
“Not everyone,” he replied as his voice caught with sadness.
“No, not everyone,” Derrick repeated. “But I don’t think anyone could have. I used to blame you for Jenni. For going out hunting that day. What I didn’t realize is how much more time I got to spend with her because you protected us for years after the outbreak. She could have died in the school, at the military base, or a hundred different other times. But you kept us safe.”
“Derrick, that day in the mountains…”
“That day in the mountains was you keeping me safe. From myself. Jenni was beyond protecting, but I was too blind, or stubborn, to see it.”
Several silent moments passed as the two men stood and looked out into the vastness before them. With the large gathering of refugees to their backs, Mike could almost believe they were the last two beings on earth. Three, as Gazelle nudged alongside his foot.
“Why didn’t you get on the boat?” Mike eventually asked.
“I don’t think I was ready, you know, to be back in civilization. I don’t know, that probably doesn’t make any sense.”
Softly, Mike responded. “I understand how that feels.”
* * *
When the hour passed, vehicles and people reversed direction and began the somber journey back to the Horde. The progress was slow, a heavy glacier drifting in a sea of ice, and Mike fought back the urge to demand a faster pace. Derrick had prepared him well for the snail’s speed though, and he simply swallowed his words and frustration. He could not blame these people for trudging slowly back over their recent tracks. Derrick had been their Moses, leading them beyond the Tilian desert. And me? What am I? he thought. A Red Sea that will not part.
He could feel the tension among the refugees. A cold stillness that chipped away at the last resolves of courage and hope. Others had fallen under his leadership, and he had shared their apprehension. But, the mood among these survivors was of a different shade. They had seen what Mike had yet to witness. For most, an army of Tils—a violent ocean of disease and death—had laid waste to their lives only a few weeks earlier. And now Mike was forcing a return to the vortex.
Women hugged children, their own and those placed in their care, offering soothing words and caresses, but their eyes filled with sneering hatred when they fell on him. These refugees had said their last goodbyes to loved ones, most with the belief—however hidden and ignored it was—that no reunion lay in the future. Death had been at their backs until ill-fortune crossed their paths with Mike Allard, and he turned them to its longing embrace. He tried to remind himself that a similar fate had most assuredly been awaiting them if they had travelled on to the rendezvous with the Mohawk. The thought did little to ease him.
“Here,” Lisa said, sidling up on his right. Mike looked to her hand and gratefully received the freshly replenished canteen of water.
After taking a long swallow, he lowered the canteen and ran his mouth across his shirt’s shoulder. “Thanks.”
“Derrick says the Horde has quite the setup. Water purification systems, farming, livestock. They even make some of their own fuel,” she shared, as Mike handed the now half-empty canteen back to her.
With a laugh, he added, “Yeah, but in the mountains we had snow!”
“Oh! You’re right. How could I forget?” Lisa mocked. “How I loved those nights when I thought for sure I was going to lose a few toes to frost bite.”
Laughing easily now, Mike let the moment wash over him. “We definitely didn’t have it easy up there, but we made do, I guess. Even with all of Marena’s complaining!” For the second time in the day, he wished his words had been chosen more carefully. Mentioning the doctor, another and far more guilty participant of the Ira Project, pushed the momentary mirth away. It was with surprise that Mike listened to Lisa expand on the subject of the doctor.
“You think he was bad then? You should have seen him when we left the facility. He complained so much, the ground was too hard, the air was too cold, the food was too dry, that I seriously thought about letting the Tils have my ears!”
The unexpected humor, combined with a mental picture of the events, had him laughing once again. Not one to miss a lighthearted moment, Erik quickly jogged up to them and joined in the various imitations of Dr. Marena. Even with the man’s scientific perversions, Mike felt a measure of gratitude towards him. For a number of years, the doctor had patched up and treated many of the camp’s inhabitants. And the guy is probably the only reason I am still alive after Miami, he admitted begrudgingly.
Not one to tread long on one topic, Erik turned to Lisa. “Have you thought about how you’re going to tell Paul about the baby?”
Teasingly, Mike groaned. “Oh no, he’s back to the baby!”
“Not really,” she began in explanation. “I mean, he thinks I’m dead, so I’m guessin’ we’ll have a lot to discuss.”
“You’re not part of that ‘we,’ Erik,” Mike joked.
“Keep it up old man! You’re asking for another beat down.”
“Another? Funny I don’t recall any past ones.”
“That’s cause you’re old,” Erik retorted in a final shot, making a motion of insanity with finger and forehead.
As the journey progressed, Derrick walked with the trio when his duties allowed him. Gazelle never failed to greet him anew with a welcome seemingly a hundred years in the waiting. Mike wondered if her canine psyche had developed an innate devotion to the man that had saved them both.
Conversation continued, though mostly of updates on the past year, each tale leading to another, filling in the gaps of continuity. For Mike, hearing Erik and Lisa’s respective exploits was just as revelatory as Derrick’s own tales. He assumed much had transpired over the past year in Havana while he had secluded himself at home. Big events, like Andrew and Michelle’s engagement, some of Paul’s journeys, and of course Erik’s struggle with drink and resettlement, had reached his ears. But he listened now to the mundane, the trivial, fleeting moments which are barely memorable, but when combined, enrich life. Hearing them brought on tepid melancholy as he understood how much life he had missed. The sadness came not from any sense of loss, but rather a quiet realization that perhaps his old desire of freedom from leadership had come to pass. Those in his care, once helpless children running blindly in a dangerous nig
ht, had grown and accomplished what he had wished for them all along. They had survived.
* * *
A short while after full night fell, a stationary gathering of lights twinkled along the distant horizon. Those familiar with both the sight and the location called out proclaiming the Horde camp was ahead. Mike was unable to distinguish dread or relief in their tones. The day had been far longer than Derrick had intended. Even those requiring a seat in a car for the duration of the trek were showing the cutting edges of weariness. For his part, he was surprised to find himself still conscious. With little sleep the previous night, and a day’s march afoot, his body no longer held the strength to cry out in exhaustion. He had dismissed Derrick’s suggestion of riding for a time, not wanting to displace another passenger and further fuel the dislike stared toward him. Either following Mike’s lead or being equally attuned to the refugees’ moods, Lisa and Erik had declined similar invitations.
With their destination some few miles ahead, Mike motioned to Lisa and the two walked together, separated from others’ hearing.
