Thoroughly exhausted from the flight and the climb, they spent the remainder of the day right there. They slept soundly through the night, despite the shuffling and moans of thousands below. It was the safest they felt in days.
*
By the time they reached the intersection halfway down the hill to the grocery store, Tim’s thoughts snapped back to Bjorn.
“Is he okay? Is he bitten?” he barked back, glancing nervously back to the floor behind him.
“I don’t think so, but I can’t be sure,” Jen called back, leaning over the rear seat and examining the unconscious man. “He’s bleeding from his back and his head, but neither really looks like a bite.”
“Okay. We need a safe place to recuperate. Do you kids know the area?” Tim directed the question to the newcomers. “Who are you anyways?”
Tim looked into the rear-view mirror for the first time and nearly laughed at the sight. It looked like a clown-car with six people plus Luna crammed across a row of seats meant for three.
“I’m Nick, Nick Santiago, this is Christine,” Nick called up to the man who appeared to be in charge. “We go to school there, so yeah, we know Hancock. Listen, Mister, how widespread is this thing, whatever it is?”
“It’s everywhere as far as we can tell. We need gas and a place to rest, somewhere away from town if possible. Do you know of any place?”
The two teenagers looked at each other
“The Sunoco?” Chris hazarded quietly.
“Nah, it’s right off the highway and we’d have to drive through town to get there,” Nick responded. “What about Wilbur’s?”
“Down off 191?”
“Yeah, he has a gas pump out there, I think.”
“Well, it certainly is uninhabited,” she replied. “Where are you all from?”
“Downstate. Jen is from Jersey and Will is from the city,” Tim said absently. “So, how do we get to this Wilbur’s?”
*
“You mean to tell me there are thousands of undead just on the other side of that mountain?” Tar asked in rising panic, pointing to Mt. Ethel in sight to the west of them.
Yen nodded.
“How many?”
“I don’t know how to estimate that many…more than a stadium full, at least fifty thousand, probably more.”
“Holy fuck!” Tar said, absently rubbing his mustache.
“It was the next afternoon we stumbled into your barricades.”
“Eighteen of you?”
Yen nodded.
“Your brother, Ti?”
Yen shook his head slowly, a sadness clouding his eyes.
“He died in Steamboat Springs. Someone shot him in the neck in the confusion of the attack,” he managed to croak out around the frog in his throat.
“How many miles do you reckon the undead are from here?”
“More than five, less than ten I’d say. We were so exhausted from the endless miles on the road that time and distance tend to distort. It took us maybe seven hours to climb down and cross the gap between there and here to the best of my recollection, probably only two or three hours once we came out of the mountains though.”
Although he had no doubt as to the veracity of the man’s story, Tar spent the remainder of the day doing his due diligence for Donner, speaking with other people from Yen’s party. By the end of the third interview, he knew beyond a doubt that they would all be welcome into Donner, so long as they could provide for themselves. More than anything, he wanted as much accurate information on the horde of dead so close to Donner.
Late in the afternoon, as the winter sun was dipping low towards Mt Ethel, Tar moved outside of the western barricade. He picked his way through the growing refugee camp outside the walls that had sprung up. The refugees were largely mistrustful of one another, but they huddled close to the walls for the safety of the guards and the heavy weapons they manned. This was his first trip outside this side of town, where they were shifting the refugees and he could immediately see that they would need to expand the refugee camp to the north end of town as well. The tents and makeshift structures the people had built sprawled out from the sides of the shipping containers and barns, extending for hundreds of feet in every direction, on both sides of the Illinois River.
Those who had arrived early on were put up in the abandoned farmhouses and barns in the area. Most of those arriving later were forced to make do with tents or shanties they constructed of whatever materials they could find. A half-mile south of the barricades on the Illinois River, Tar found Yen’s camp, nestled in a copse of trees. The cluster of tents was surrounded on three sides by the meandering of the river and felled trees blocked most of the open side.
“Nice setup you got out here,” he called to a man he hadn’t met yet, almost scaring him out of his boots.
The man gave a nervous laugh and clutched his chest before responding.
“Tar, right?”
Tar nodded.
“You here to see Yen?”
Tar nodded again.
“He is up there, third tent on the right, the Coleman one.”
Tar tipped his hat to the man and moved off, deeper into the small encampment. He tried to shake all his misconceptions of Native Americans from his head as he moved among the tents and fires. Like most people, the image of them as a people came from Hollywood misconceptions of the “noble savage.” He had expected tee-pees when he came upon the camp and started laughing at himself as Yen approached with his hand extended.
“Good evening, Tar. Welcome,” Yen said, as they gripped hands. “What brings you out here this time of night?”
“Can we talk in private?” Tar responded.
Yen nodded, leading Tar behind the tents where no one ventured other than to relieve themselves.
“Yen, that’s quite an amazing escape you all had,” Tar began. “I can’t say, even in my prime, that I would’ve been up for that.”
Yen stood stoic, waiting for the man to get to his point. He worried that they would be sent away. They did unknowingly bring tens of thousands of undead to within a few miles of the town. He steeled his nerve against whatever the man had come out to impart on him. He knew that he wouldn’t altogether blame the man if he did send them away, but with the recent heavy snows pinning them down, they would be hard-pressed to find a new place to spend the winter.
“Well, I’d like to extend an invitation for you all to move into the town…with a couple restrictions. You will be the only one allowed to carry weapons within the walls until everyone is more comfortable with so many strangers about.” Tar could see the man’s face drop a bit at this. “Your people would have access to them, for hunting and scavenging, but they cannot carry inside the walls. Also, we need you to accept total responsibility for your people.”
“I am responsible for them,” Yen cast back a bit defensively.
“I mean, as a kind of lawman…or whatever you want to call it. Look, we are a small town of ranchers; we need to make sure that all of our own are safe. I like you, Yen, and hell, I trust you as far as the circumstances allow, but I need you to understand that they are your burden. I am accepting you as mine, but they are yours, if that makes sense.”
Yen paced a bit, digesting the man’s words. He was nervous about his people being unarmed, but in the two weeks they had camped here, the people of the town were pleasant, kind even. The doctor had even come out to tend wounds and check on everyone. In the end, he knew that he had no choice for the good of his people. He couldn’t say no; his responsibility required him to accept on behalf of them.
“We will move in come morning if that is okay?” Yen asked.
“That’s fine. I’ll make sure they call for me when you come to the barricade,” Tar stated and cast back over his shoulder. “I’m glad you came, Yen. You’re a good man.”
*
“Wilbur’s son still lives there,” Nick said, pointing to the non-descript aging farmhouse. “The pump is around back. I saw it back there when I used
to deliver newspapers.”
Tim led the Jeep off the rural highway on the opposite side of the Delaware River, through a gap in the fence where he could only assume the driveway was. The thick blanket of snow that covered the yard and roadway was already eight inches deep. It was still coming down heavily, untouched by wheel or foot in the side yard of the house.
“What are all those warehouse buildings?” Will asked Nick, referring to a half-dozen large gambrel-style buildings lined up, one next to another toward the rear of the property.
“Wilbur used to run a commercial rose farm out of those. He supplied the whole southern tier at one point,” Nick said, reciting the story he heard his aunt telling one day. “I have no idea what they are used for now.”
As the Jeep crunched slowly through the virgin snow towards the house, Tim eyed the windows warily, watching for movement, lights, or anything else that might indicate potential danger. Nothing appeared. He was very nervous now that there were no able-bodied men left. Will’s knee wouldn’t allow anything more than a crawl, Bjorn was still unconscious, and the pain in his own hip caused him to pass out not twenty minutes before. He finally looked to Jen as he opened his mouth she interrupted him.
“I got it,” she said flatly.
“First order of business is to fill the tank if the pump still works,” Tim stated as he guided the Jeep towards the antique-looking pump.
When the Jeep rumbled to a halt in the snow, Jen popped the rear driver’s side door open and stepped out into the frigid early winter wind. She clutched the oversized coat around her tightly as the blustery winds swept through, billowing up the bottom of it. Tim rolled his window down and leaned out with his pistol in hand to cover her.
She took a deep breath to steady herself and stepped towards the faded green pump.
“Hello?” Jen called loudly.
The only sound that came back in return was the slamming of the screen door on the rear of the weathered farmhouse. Sheltered under an overhang, the door blew freely, hanging by a loose hinge. The inner door was open, revealing a glaring blackness within.
“Hello? Anyone here?” Tim bellowed as loud as he could muster with his hands cupped around his mouth.
They waited in tense anticipation for a couple minutes, but the only sounds were the wind-driven snow, punctuated occasionally by the slam of the screen door. Jen finally worked up the nerve to step away from the vehicle and move off to the antique-looking gas pump. She pulled the nozzle free and swung the receiver up, looking back to throw Tim a glare as she did. This drew nervous smiles from Will, Laura, and Tim. She held the pump-handle aloft and pressed the trigger on the hand-grip. Amber fuel flew out of the end, surprising everyone watching.
“Shit!” Jen called, running to the rear and plunging the nozzle into the gas tank. The minutes ticked away as she filled the gas tank. Inside the Jeep, the tension mounted as the Jeep idled. All eyes were drawn back to the open door, staring blackly at them. Everyone jumped nervously whenever the wicked wind slammed the screen door. Jen, freezing in the elements and feeling exposed to whatever dangers might lurk about, spun her head on a pivot, constantly scanning around her. They all breathed a sigh of relief as the handle clicked off, indicating the tank was full. Jen tossed the nozzle to the ground and moved back to the open driver’s side window.
“Think we should we clear the house and stay here?” Laura asked.
The question hung in the air for a few minutes while all of them considered the risk and reward of the scenario. None of them relished the clearing part of the scenario, but the potential rewards were great, especially with three of them injured and no one equipped for the brutal onset of winter. Ultimately, Jen recognized that they were all looking expectantly to her. Her stomach tied in a knot at the thought of stepping through that dark portal and facing whatever lay within.
“Don’t take any risks. If you see, hear, or feel wrong about anything, come back to the Jeep and we’ll figure something else out,” Will said, his voice full of concern.
“Does anything not feel wrong recently?” Jen cast back, her attention fully on the darkened door.
With a couple heavy breaths to steady herself, she moved up to the rear doorway. She grabbed the flapping screen door and wrenched it off its remaining hinge to stop the unsettling slamming for good. She hesitated at the new silence and stood in the doorway for a moment, trying to pierce the darkness with her eyes. She lifted her 9mm pistol, pointed into the dark recesses, and worked up the nerve to yell into the house.
“Hello! Come out, come out wherever you are!”
The silence that followed reassured her, slightly, that the house was vacant. She figured that any undead that lingered in the house would have heard her and either moved in pursuit or tried to if they were prevented. She stepped through, into a mud-room that led into the house. The gray-carpeted living room sat to the right and the kitchen to the left. She stood in silence, letting her eyes adjust from the snow to the dim interior before turning back outside and yelling to the Jeep.
“Need a couple to help clear it,” she shouted.
The trio of Tim, Jen, and Nick moved room by room, sweeping the house. Tim guarded the rear while Nick scouting ahead and Jen covered him. After twenty minutes of exhaustive searching, flipping beds, opening every closet and cupboard, they finally felt confident that the house was completely clear. They moved everyone inside where they congregated in the living room. The electricity still worked, as did the furnace, which they cranked to 90 to get some warmth flowing through the drafty old house. Jen was nervous about being trapped again, like they had been off the highway, so she parked the Jeep diagonally across the back door. She figured, if needed, that they would be able to escape the house into the Jeep with minimal risk. When she was comfortable with its position, she locked the doors and joined the others inside.
Over the next few hours, while the house warmed up, Jen, Laura, Nick, and Chris moved from room to room on the first floor. They secured the exterior doors and windows with whatever they could find. Mainly, they nailed trim boards, pine planks, and cabinet doors over them with the tools Jen and Tim had scavenged in the garage they found the Jeep. The racket they created drew a couple undead to the house. These, Jen dispatched easily with hammer blows from above as they flailed against the siding below the windows. They collected all the medical supplies, clothing, and blankets they could find and brought it all into the living room. Nick was finally able to dress in gender appropriate clothing and they were able to attend to everyone’s wounds with proper dressings.
“One of the things bit his foot,” Will said to Laura and Jen as they rolled the man back onto his freshly bandaged back. “Make sure you check it to see if it broke skin.”
Laura examined the boot and could see the shape of a bite pressed into the hard leather top of it. She unlaced it and struggled for a minute before finally pulling it free of his foot. The smell horrified her as his bare foot came out and she rolled away, retching. Jen too, turned off to the side, trying not to vomit as she laughed at the combination of the horrid smell and Laura’s reaction to it. After they determined that there was no blood on his foot, that the teeth hadn’t penetrated the boot, the two women broke into peals of laughter and gagging.
“We should all wear leather,” Will said, admiring the boot.
“Fuck that, I want a suit of armor,” Tim cast back, smiling.
They ate heartily of their scavenge canned goods and the carrots that were still edible in the fridge. Once the meal was over, they nestled in together, comfortably in the living room, drifting off to sleep in a warm house with bellies full of warm food. They all slept soundly and deeply, with the exception of Nick and Chris, who snuck off for a while after most drifted asleep. In the morning, they awoke to the smell of eggs and toast cooking in the kitchen. Tim sat up, causing Luna, who slept between her parents, to stir. Laura cracked an eye open, glancing at Tim before she snuggled her daughter in closer. As he stood, wincing away the pain fr
om his hip, he looked about at the tangle of bedding and bodies around him scattered about the room.
“Morning, man,” Bjorn called from the kitchen, his head still wrapped in rolls of gauze.
“Hey, man, how are you feeling?” Tim asked, pleasantly surprised to hear his friend’s voice and see him up and making breakfast. “We weren’t sure how bad off you were. Can’t tell you how glad I am to see you up and moving.”
“Been up a few hours actually. You all did a nice job finding this place and barricading it.”
“Thanks. Guessing we are gonna hole up here for a bit, what do you think?” He nodded towards the bay window and the raging snowstorm on the other side of it.
“Sounds great to be honest. Think we all can use some R and R.”
Tim nodded honest agreement, hoping that a few days of rest might help his wound heal up. He walked down the hall, to the bathroom, and urinated while brushing his teeth with toothpaste on a scrap of fabric. It had been a terrible run since they had left the highway, and they really needed a couple days of calm to regroup and assess their options. Tim and Bjorn drank coffee and ate eggs together while the rest of the group slept and Tim filled him in on the details of their narrow escape the day previous. It was almost like old times in that moment; they were safe, relaxed, and the camaraderie was running as good between the men as ever. It was during the lulls in conversation that Tim noticed the cloud that would come over his friend’s eyes. The loss of his wife and son was never far from the surface. Will struggled out of his nest of blankets and limped over to the kitchen island.
“Morning,” he stated groggily.
“Cup of coffee?” Tim asked.
Will nodded, ambling towards the bathroom, using a five-foot wooden closet rod as a crutch. When he returned, there was a piping hot cup and a plate of eggs and toast waiting for him at the counter.
“Wow, thanks, guys.”
“No problem, eat up. Guessing this will be the last time we are going to be getting eggs for a while, so enjoy them,” Bjorn said.
Harvest of Ruin (Book 2): Dead of Winter Page 18
