by Micah Gurley
"You know what we need is light sabers? Over," the radio blurted out. Kyle was intently watching all around as they neared the bridge that would take them onto Oak Island. "They could cut right through a zombie."
"Patrick, keep a look out. We need to focus and not talk about Star Trek right now," scolded Yolanda from beside Kyle. She looked at him as she hung the receiver back up and gave him a wink. Kyle gave a laugh.
"Star Wars," came in inevitable return. "You know that Yolanda, I have told you about them many times and I know you've seen the movies at XR-12."
"You need to stop spying on people Captain Spock."
Kyle could hear the aggravation in Patrick's voice when he got back on the radio. "I wasn't spying, I was manning the cameras and Spock wasn't the captain. Over" Kyle was laughing now. Maybe they needed to be paying better attention but he figured the group needed the laugh, and he and everyone else enjoyed the bickering between these two.
"You know," interrupted a pouty English voice, "Star Wars was filmed in London. Tis’ true."
"Hey Lobster-back," Eric chimed in, "make sure you're paying attention. That truck is my baby and the girls are in back. Over."
"Yes, I know. They're quite smelly, aren't they?" asked Edmund.
"I told you about that questioning thing and no, the girls don't smell, least not that bad."
Kyle grabbed the receiver that Yolanda was picking up, about ready to jump into the conversation again. "Okay, everybody, we’re about to cross the bridge. After that, the road will come to a T, with the left going to the fort and the right taking you into Southport, is that right Eric?”
"That's right, Professor, the bridge is down and looks okay."
Kyle breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn't mentioned it to anyone since he had thought of it just recently, but if the bridge had been up, then they would have been in big trouble. Anyway, it was down. "Also, Patrick we probably can't get light sabers but grabbing some swords isn't a bad idea, and there should be some at the museum, over."
Kyle hung the receiver back up as they began to cross the river. This was still an area that didn't have a lot of people, but they would be seeing more and more houses as they got closer. Luckily, they would be driving away from town again, when they made their turn.
"Professor, looks like another roadblock," Eric said on the radio. Kyle just sighed as he answered. "Copy that, same procedure as last time.”
They pulled over and Kyle repeated his actions from last time. When he got up to Eric, he saw the hairy man shaking his head at Kyle as he walked up. "You're not going to believe this."
"What?"
"I'm pretty sure that's Neil up there, and he's got us roadblocked before we can make the turn." Kyle grabbed the binoculars from Eric and stared intently at the distant figures. He could see the other Tahoe from work and behind it, a familiar figure looking back at him. That man's got a lot of balls showing up here.
Chapter 20
Neil stared into the binoculars and saw Kyle looking back at him. He giggled to himself at the thoughts that must be going through Kyle's head. He almost trembled in excitement to see Kyle finally get what was coming to him. He would be able to rest now, to see after his family, all those things he had to put on hold in order to do his duty. He just needed to punish Kyle for what he did, then, and only then, he could move on.
Neil kept stopped looking at Kyle and noticed the amount of trucks that were with him, they had grown. Didn't matter how many cowards Kyle brought with him. Right would prevail. After all, Kyle was the coward. If he had listened to Neil, then Tim wouldn't be dead now. Kyle had caused that by not following orders. But that wasn't the worst of Kyle's sin, oh no. He had abandoned his post, the most important of the general orders in the military, and the worst offence. He had learned that lesson the hard way in the marine corps, though he had never seen action working in logistics. But he still knew that to leave your post the way that Kyle did, and convincing others to do it too, was unforgiveable. Then he had the nerve to steal from the plant that he was supposed to be protecting. Thief! And lastly, Tim's death, but that wasn't as bad because he had signed on to defend and death was always there. He was willing to give his life if he needed to, but Neil knew he was important as a sergeant, a leader. These people needed him. He would stop Kyle.
"Get ready people," he snapped in a military tone. "The traitors are coming. Let's finish this."
A small woman raised her hand uncertainly in the air like she was afraid the teacher would lash out at her, "Neil, shouldn't we talk to them and see if they will surrender or give the weapons back?" The people around her didn't look at her as she asked this, except the two Neil had recruited from somewhere. They thought they might have been ex-military. Maybe.
Neil's eyes bore into her and then he gave a small smile. "Maybe a talk couldn't hurt."
"Looks like he wants to talk. He's walking out in front with a white something," Eric stated as he looked at Neil.
"Maybe he wants to surrender?" offered Abe, who hadn't quite gotten the whole story on this guy. The CB radio wasn't conducive to having long conversations, especially with everyone jumping in the conversation. Everyone looked at Kyle.
"We can pull up and talk, but not too close," Kyle said, rubbing his hand through his hair. "He doesn't have that many people, but I want everyone to stay behind their engines when we pull up. Let's hope he just doesn't do anything stupid." The others nodded and jogged off to get in their trucks. Kyle again jumped up on the running board of the Peterbilt and let Yolanda drive his truck.
When they were just close enough to be heard, Kyle slapped the back of the cab and Eric stopped the big truck. He saw that Neil's was still wearing his uniform from the plant, and gave a small laugh in annoyance. Neil handed his gun to someone and started walking out in front. Kyle gave a sigh and handed his 9mm to Eric and started walking.
Neil looked terrible. His always immaculate uniform was stained and in disarray. His eyes sunken and bloodshot. He looked pale and was sweating profusely though it was a cool day. He also hadn't shaved in a few days, another first for Sergeant Neil.
"What do you want?" said Kyle. Behind Neil, he could see the rifles of Neil's people poking up from the cars. Kyle moved over a bit, making sure that Neil would be blocking the path of any bullets slung his way.
"I want to give you the chance to surrender and give up your guns," Neil almost shouted, his body visibly shaking. Kyle was thinking it wasn't such a good idea to meet him this close, weapons or not.
"What are you talking about Neil? Surrender for what?" Despite his anger at the sheer absurdity of the demand, Kyle was genuinely surprised at the request.
"You left your post and stole weapons from our employer!" screamed Neil, his voice becoming higher and shrill. "You are a traitor and a thief!"
Kyle just stared at Neil, almost not comprehending what he was talking about. The guy's gone crazy. He can't be still going on about this. How do you reason with someone like this?
"Neil, the plant is safely shut off and I see that you also have weapons and a truck from the plant," he called out. He knew that arguing with him wouldn't do any good, but he couldn't help himself. The guy was a delusional idiot. He heard footsteps coming from behind him and turned to find Yolanda walking up with her rifle slung.
They both heard Neil's response, "It's my job now to stop you from hurting anyone else. You're a traitor and a coward."
"The guy has completely lost it I see," Yolanda commented, looking straight at Neil. She seemed amused by the whole thing. Neil stared at Yolanda, his face seeming to distort in all manner of shapes.
"Neil," Kyle was just tired and wanted to finish what they started, "we just need to reach the fort. We need the safety and so do you."
"You'll never have it. It belongs to the state and you can't trespass. You have no authority!"
"Okay Neil." Kyle reached out to grab Yolanda who was still smirking at Neil. She had a way of getting under the skin if she wanted to. H
e just wanted to get away from the guy. They began walking back. Kyle wondered if it was a good idea to turn his back on Neil but he couldn't do much without any weapons. He hoped. They had almost made it back to the truck when a shot was fired off. Instinctively Kyle and Yolanda dropped low and rushed back to the cover of the truck. Kyle was breathing hard, that shot has scared him. He turned to see Neil holding his rifle in the air and screaming at them.
"Judas Priest!" Eric exclaimed, "He'll draw the attention of every infected in the area. Neil then turned his rifle and aimed right at them. "He wouldn't!"
The metallic ping of bullets hitting metal caused all of them to dash behind whatever form of cover they could. Kyle, who knew any minute a bullet would find him, couldn't believe the fool was firing on him. Eric, already with his rifle out, began returning fire. He heard Abe yelling from behind him and turned to yell at him to get back when he felt a sting in his ear. He quickly slapped his hand to his ear as one might if they were stung by a hornet and felt the small, yet perfectly round, hole in the cartilage of his ear. He pulled his bloody hand back down and cursed Neil.
The firefight quickly ramped up. Kyle also started firing, though he was still dubious about doing so. He knew some of these people and he didn't want to shoot any of them, but they were forcing him to choose between those feelings and life. They would lose. The noise was overpowering, but the numbers quickly wrote the story. Neil was simply outnumbered and, Kyle thought, had the weaker shooters.
Kyle watched one of the trucks Neil's people were hiding behind settle to the ground as both of its tires facing them were blown, the truck was being shredded by bullets. He saw two people dash toward the other Tahoe and then the sound of an engine trying desperately to start. The engine coughed and finally caught, taking off toward the town.
He waved his hand to get the attention of the others. "Hold your fire, they’re bugging out."
"We ought to take care of them right now," complained the old man. "And it's no fun being in a firefight handcuffed to a truck."
"Sorry about that," Kyle said looking up, "but those were the terms." Kyle heard him grumble something to Eric who was checking his magazines.
"Let's count off!" Kyle shouted. He saw Abe walking toward them, looking unharmed but needed to check on everyone. All the trucks reported in, except for his. He was about to find Yolanda when Patrick shouted his name from the other side of the truck.
He darted around, expecting to see the worst. He found James, leaning over a prostrate form on the ground, Yolanda. James had ripped the front of her shirt open and had already started to put pressure on the wounds. Blood had quickly pushed past his hands and began to pool on her chest. Yolanda was alive but barely, her breathing coming in painful gasps. James said something quietly to Patrick, who tore off in another direction.
Kyle kneeled down on the other side of her, "How many hits?"
"Three," James replied evenly, not taking his eyes off what he was doing.
"Exit wounds?"
"We need to check, Yolanda, we are going to lift you up to see if the bullets came out," James's tone was light and compassionate, almost as if he were giving directions to a child.
"Don't bother," she coughed painfully, her speech slurring. "I'm done. Can you believe those idiots got me?" Her body convulsed in an almost rhythmic pace. Kyle, helpless to provide any help to his dying friend, clenched his hands in aggravation and sorrow. A blood bubble formed in her mouth and then popped, leaving her mouth and teeth coated in a ghastly appearance.
Yolanda stretched out her hand, intent to find James, and softly put her hand over James' eyes. With a fading voice she looked at him and said, "James, it's okay. It's okay." Her last words, soft and slow, were but faint and covered by the wind. James, his always stoic form on the verge of melting, slowly leaned over and kissed her now relaxed forehead. Not a word did James speak, and after a minute, as he got up and walked away from the shell that had once held the vibrant Yolanda.
Yolanda's body, wrapped and snug, was placed carefully into the back of James' truck and then the old Peterbilt pulled out, to be followed by the small convoy of trucks that were bound for Fort Macon.
Chapter 21
They pulled into the Fort Macon State Park and drove down an old dirt path that sat in the middle of a line of towering water oaks. These massive sentinels threw dark shadows on the cold and overcast day. The road to the fort became a foreboding experience, as the trucks slowly passed under and through them as if they were the gatekeepers to the last refuge. Kyle, now alone again in his truck, had passed the Peterbilt at the entrance of the state park, and he was the first to see the fort sitting in the distance. He had been to the fort many times and had even done at paper about it in high school. He received a B. He tried to remember what he could about the fort.
Fort Macon was a five-sided fort that was built of stone and brick. It did not stand high, but rather quite low to the ground, or rather it seemed to at first. The exterior part of the outer wall stood only a few feet high, with the interior of the outer wall dropping down fifteen feet into the moat. It was built to hold the large cannon that protected the inlet from invaders. Now, only the concrete and grass existed in this twenty-foot wide space. The moat was twenty-five feet across, it was built to protect the fort proper if the outer walls were ever overrun. It was once deeper and filled with water, but now held only a nicely cut sea of grass. The outer walls then rose up from the moat and stood over twenty-four feet high. These inner walls were over five feet thick and still in excellent condition. A wooden bridge led from the outer fort to the inner fort, where the sally port was. Once you went through the walls, you entered the citadel and found yourself upon a half-acre parade ground that hosts a lonely cannon for visitors to capture the past. Surrounding the parade ground were twenty-six vaulted rooms, or casements that once housed the populace of the fort.
Kyle had seen the empty parking lot and museum as they made their way to the fort but decided they could go check it out later for things to use. They pulled up to the outer walls of the fort and Kyle, feeling defeated himself, grabbed the hand mic from the truck, and tried and failed to convey a successful tone.
"Okay everyone, we're here. We made it. Park and let's gather up here." Kyle dropped the mic and shut the door quietly, noise had become the enemy. Kyle watched the others in the group, all appearing tense and full of gloom, slowly gather round him. Abe, for his part, seemed to have been as strongly affected by Yolanda's death as those who had known her longer. Adversity shared deepened relationships. Defeat, for that is what hung in their eyes, had the group’s shoulders stooped and full of grief. Yolanda's presence was sorely missed, yet there was not time to mourn. The night, with its uncertainties, was imminent.
"Me, Abe, and Eric will guard the perimeter while everyone grabs what they need for tonight," Kyle stated. He thought the best thing for the group now was to be doing something. We don't have time check out the whole fort and we don't want to take a chance an infected might be in there, so we'll all stay together in one of the rooms they have reconstructed. We have to go through the inner fort to get to that.
"I'll cover the far side," James said, look at Kyle with a solid stare.
Kyle hadn't wanted to give James any instruction, not knowing where his mind was at the moment. "Sounds good." James hoisted in rifle at port arms and walked to the back of the caravan.
After five minutes, all were ready to venture into the fort. Kyle grabbed his backpack and those items he would need for the night, took a quick look for his brother, and led them through the outer wall. With the skies becoming darker and night approaching, the walls gave off a ghostly appearance. The group was quiet as they walked over the wooden bridge, their feet making little noise. The bridge led to the sally port and they were soon at the main door to the inner fort.
"Looks like nobody’s home," suggested Patrick, holding the hand of his son. His wife, looking exhausted and scared, was standing close by him with their daug
hter safely in her hands.
"I’ve got a bolt cutter," offered Eric helpfully, dropping his pack next to his handcuffed uncle, who seemed to find the whole exercise a bore, and began looking in a bag of tools he had.
"You carry a bolt cutter around, do you?" asked Edmund. At this point Edmund understood that his questions drove Eric crazy and he seemed to enjoy asking them.
Eric found what he was looking for and grabbed the long-handled bolt cutter to show Edmund, "Look for yourself son, always be prepared." He seemed pleased with himself. Eric then took the bolt cutter and walked up to the ancient-looking wood doors that barred their way. Their hinges were long, black medieval-looking devices that seemed impenetrable. Erick put his hand on the door and gave it small knock. He could feel the solidness of the wall. He looked down where the two doors, having no lock on them, were chained together with an impressive chain and padlock. On the door above the chain read a sign that said: "Closed for the holiday, will open on Monday." Eric gave a huff and brought the bolt cutters up to the padlock and started to squeeze the handles together. Veins and muscles bulged, as he tried to squeeze the still spread handle of the cutter.
"Let a real man take a shot," laughed the old man, holding out his arms. "Even with these things on I could break that lock.
Eric gave his uncle a nasty look and redoubled his efforts to break the lock. Sweat, pooling and beginning to drip into his eyes, despite the cool day, spoke of the effort he was putting into the massive lock. With a loud snap, the cutter’s edges came together, and the padlock hit the ground. Eric stood back breathing hard and gave a nod to Kyle, who motioned for him to stand near the far door. James grabbed the other door and they pulled them open. The doors, massive things that were inches thick, swung ponderously open, accompanied by a small squeak that came from the hinges. Kyle had his rifle up, as did Abe and Patrick, with Edmund, whom Kyle had not given a gun, keeping a lookout from behind.
