by Ryan, L. T.
“How come we’re not moving much?”
“Anchor.” He led her to the aft end and leaned over the railing. “They didn’t want the boat to move while helping the man overboard.”
“Should we look for them?”
Turk’s gaze swept the vast ocean. “They didn’t make it.”
She fell back into a chair and looked up at him. “You’ll take me with you?”
There was plenty of space. And the woman could come in handy when they reached their destination, considering he had far fewer survivors with him than he had planned.
“I will.” Turk sat next to her. “Here’s how I’m gonna work this. You stay here. Downstairs there’s a rifle and a pistol on the table. You ever shot before?”
She nodded. “Guess my family didn’t tell you I’m Army?”
“No, they didn’t. That’s perfect, Rhea. Now listen to me. You defend this boat like it’s your virginity and you’re surrounded by a pack of men who’ve been imprisoned for forty years. Got that?”
She smiled. “Where are you going?”
“To get my family. I’ll be back by nightfall. Don’t do anything stupid like pull up that anchor.”
Turk led her into the cabin. While there, he searched under the double bed in back and found another storage container. Inside were two handheld battery operated long-range radios.
“Perfect.”
He decided to add another leg to his journey. There were others. They were coming to meet him at the bunker. Turk didn’t know how long he would remain close to Charleston, but if anyone showed up during that time, he wanted them to have a chance. The radios might help.
He set one on the table in front of Rhea and switched it on. Then the other. They worked short range. He planned to test it once he reached the bunker.
Rhea helped Turk load the kayak with a couple life vests, one lifeboat, some water and MREs, and then he departed for shore.
To leave hope at the bunker.
And bring his family to their new home.
Chapter 32
Muted light filtered through grime-covered windows and splashed across the weathered wooden floor.
How many sunrises are left? For me? For humanity?
Sean had made it through another night. Perhaps the most impossible of them all. At least since his time in Nigeria.
He wondered how many survivors perished in the hurricane. Or was it a tropical storm? He supposed it didn’t matter. All one had to do was look at the devastation that occurred in countries the news didn’t report on when a hurricane went through. The United States was third world now. Hell, that might be an upgrade over what most faced since the outbreak.
What had happened to the men in the other two trucks? They had fallen behind the one piloted by Barton. Did the storm claim them? Or had they managed to power through?
He held no specific grudge against the men other than they belonged to a camp who felt it appropriate to open fire on a group of survivors taking refuge in an abandoned house while passing through.
For that reason, he didn’t give a shit if those guys survived the night, or had their hearts devoured by the same afflicted who tore Phil to shreds.
Light continued to fill the room. Sean looked around, glad to take a break from his thoughts.
The place was old, dusty and dirty. Cobwebs clogged the corners. Rodent waste scattered everywhere.
He got up and opened the cabinets, prepared for something to jump out at him.
Nothing did.
He found little of use in the cabinets. One can of chili, ten years past its expiration date.
It wasn’t until he made his way around the room a second time that he slid open a drawer and found a set of maps. He pulled them out and spread them on the counter top. The edges were frayed. Old creases threatened to split the paper into eight. They were local and regional. Street maps. Topographical. Marked up with pencil, blue ink, and yellow highlighter. He opened each up and placed them side by side. They all had roughly the same location circled in blue ink.
The cabin.
Sean realized he was further north and west than he had thought. More time had passed in the truck than he had realized. The men had beaten him after detaining him. Had he been unconscious for part of it? Concussed, perhaps? There was no other explanation other than time had simply slowed down in light of everything that had happened.
A long trail of events played through his mind. It led back to Emma. He felt hollow inside. He had no way of reaching her. The only way he’d know if she made it to Turk’s was for him to go there himself.
Sean looked down at his titanium capped stump.
How the hell was he supposed to make that journey on one leg? And if he did, what would he do once he arrived? He’d be a drag on the community. A dead weight others would have to fend for.
Sean placed his finger on the map and traced north. He was less than a hundred miles from his house. A week’s journey and he’d be inside his bunker, where he could communicate with Turk and Emma. In the refuge of the underground dwelling, he could prepare for the journey. He had two legs there. Food. Water. Medicine. Weapons. And with only him to worry about, he could make the trip to South Carolina and get there before winter hit.
Is it crazy I’m thinking of going home? Adding a couple hundred miles to the trip?
Sean knew everything hinged on mobility. Right now, he had none. That made getting anywhere difficult. But a hundred miles was shorter than two hundred and fifty no matter how he looked at it.
“I’m whole, or I’m nothing to them.”
He folded the maps and left them on the counter. What other secrets did the cabin hide? He pulled every drawer out. Opened the cabinets again and used the branch he’d carried as a crutch to sweep the top shelves.
In the end, he scavanged a roll of heavy tape, a square of foam padding, and a hunting knife.
A start, he figured.
Sean headed outside and scavenged the clearing and surrounding woods until he had another branch roughly the same size as the one he carried. Then he found four smaller hunks of wood. He attached the smaller pieces to the longer ones with the tape, forming a T with a short cross at the top and part of the way down. Then he cut the foam in half and wrapped the crossing portion with it. Again, he wrapped it all in tape.
Crutches.
Crude.
Effective.
He was able to manipulate his way around the clearing and through the woods at least at the speed he could walk with his prosthetic. A more mobile form of transportation was ideal, but the crutches allowed him to make the required trip.
Back inside the cabin, he tried to come up with a way to create a spear with the knife, but no method worked well enough where he could trust the contraption. If it came down to it, the crutches could be used as clubs and the knife would be his last resort.
Sean made another pass around the cabin, searching for a hidden cut out in the wall, or loose floorboards where whoever had lived here had stashed a supply of food or weapons.
In the end, he found nothing else. But he wouldn’t call it a waste of time. Sure, he’d used time and energy, but if something had turned up that would make his journey easier, it would have paid off.
Hunger and thirst forced his mind to retreat from the thought of beginning the journey. But he had managed four or five hours of sleep and felt rested. No matter how he approached it, the trip would not be easy. He would be relegated to the road for a good portion of it if he wanted to make it home within a week.
“Time to go.”
He gathered the maps, stuffed them in his waistband, and left the shelter behind, calling on his instincts and Special Forces training to protect him on his journey.
Shuffling in the woods to his right gave Sean reason to pause. He leaned against his right crutch and retrieved the knife.
The diminutive figure emerged from the woods.
Sean whistled as he tucked the blade away.
“Come here, Marle
y-boy.”
He had no idea how the dog had found him. Didn’t bother to contemplate it. That would come later. For now, he was simply happy to have a companion for the journey.
Chapter 33
The deserted outskirts of Charleston left Turk feeling alone for the first time in more than a day. Even when he passed a group of afflicted, they ignored him. Stood there, staring at the sky, or off in the distance. The second group as well. Of course, Turk hadn’t treaded too close.
One afflicted could ruin his day.
Turk straddled the road shoulder for most of the trek, ducking into the woods when he had spotted the afflicted. The steady drone of insects and chirping birds followed him. The humid air smelled of wet leaves.
Two hours after he hid the kayak in a marshy creek, Turk reached his defunct bunker. He watched from a distance before making his approach. He didn’t count on anyone squatting there, but it was better to make sure.
After ten minutes, he figured it was safe. Turk crossed the field and found the earthen entry hatch. He lowered himself into the hole, then crept through the tunnel. Dull red lighting lit the passage. He had mounted flashlights along the wall when he finished the bunker. He grabbed one and flicked it on. At the end of the sunken walkway stood the bunker’s entrance. With no power, he had to manually disengage the lock. He entered the code on the mechanical keypad and waited for the click and hiss.
The door opened. Dim red light washed over the space. The bunker was deep under the Earth’s surface. The temperature was self-regulated. But the air was stale and unmoving.
Turk went straight to the storeroom.
When Turk had left with his family and Sarah, they’d carried some provisions with them. He figured they could never have enough. They faced a long journey, and had added Rhea to their group.
He pulled a duffel bag off a wire rack and stuffed it full of batteries, a handheld GPS unit, and a radio that he figured he could play around with to see if anyone was broadcasting, and parts for a solar still capable of filtering enough water for them to survive on.
He filled a rucksack with MREs and water pouches, additional ammunition, and three Glock 17s. He strapped on a belt equipped with four frags. Finally, he strapped two M16s over his shoulders. He had enough rifles and pistols for everyone to be armed now.
For the first time since he’d left the bunker, he felt safe. A bit overloaded, but the security it provided gave him renewed energy.
Turk locked the door after exiting into the tunnel. At the foot of the door, he left one of the radios with a note he had scrawled on a piece of yellow paper. It contained the channel he’d set the radio at the boat to.
From the bunker, he made his way to the house where he’d left his family.
He covered three miles in half the time it would normally take. Pain. Hunger. Thirst. None of it affected him. Adrenaline and an intense desire to hug his wife and daughter drove Turk forward.
As he approached the house, he heard his daughter call out inside, telling her mother that daddy was home.
The door opened and Turk was greeted with a rifle. He looked past it at his smiling wife.
He stopped on the front porch, letting the gear slide off his arms. “I got us a boat. Let’s go.”
Turk didn’t stay long enough to fill his stomach. It would weigh him down. He took a few sips of water, fearing cramping if he chugged a bottle or two. There would be time to replenish. Right now, he was in the middle of a mission and getting his family to the sailboat was priority one.
They met little resistance on the trip back. The few afflicted they saw appeared to be in the same trance-like state as the damned he’d seen earlier. They stared at the sky, or into the woods, or out over fields. The storm was all Turk could think of. The event had left them dazed, or mesmerized. Perhaps they attempted to follow the hurricane.
In the end, as long as the afflicted left him alone, Turk didn’t care.
He led his family through the woods when necessary. The rest of the time, they walked along the side of the road, checking the odd stranded vehicle they passed to see if it would start. Seemed all had been drained of their gas.
One potential obstacle remained. But any fears of someone stealing the kayak dissipated when they reached the swampy lane where Turk had left it. The Charleston area had miles of estuaries perfect for paddling. Turk had spent hours there over the years, and knew the rivers by memory.
He inflated the life raft and tied it to the kayak. Elana and Layla sat in it, while Sarah joined Turk in the kayak to help paddle. They navigated through the estuaries and back to open water. After getting past the breakers, the rest of the trip went by quickly.
The final straw of tension broke and faded with the wind when the sailboat was in view. Rhea waved at them from the deck. She helped secure the kayak and helped Turk get the others onboard.
“Didn’t tell me you had a girlfriend,” Elana said, smiling.
“Slipped my mind,” Turk said. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close to his side.
After getting his daughter settled, the group sorted supplies and then filled their stomachs. Turk went over the list of repairs that had to be made before they could start the next leg of their journey.
“But I want to wait a few days before we pull anchor,” he said after swallowing his last bite of food.
“Why?” Elana asked.
The radio hissed static from the middle of the table. Turk stared at it.
“Just a feeling is all.”
Chapter 34
The ATV had run out of gas. The engine choked and sputtered and went silent. Turned out one of the gas cans had been filled with water. Addison had wondered if Phil had planned it all along.
Let them leave, but strand them.
After determining their heading, she had switched off the GPS to conserve battery. There wasn’t much distance left to cover. Less than twenty miles. Once they were close, she’d turn it back on.
Addison estimated they’d traveled more than half of the way already. She kept track of the minutes in her head, figuring every twenty minutes equaled a mile. Even with a hungry, whining seven-year-old with them. She and Jenny took turns carrying Paige on their back. Emma, though distraught, was able to keep up with them.
It was tough without the ATV. The only benefit she could find to losing it was that they could walk straight through the woods. Hardly a consolation prize, considering they’d be at their destination already if they still had the vehicle.
Unless.
The possibilities were endless. Afflicted. Other survivors who came with bad intentions. An accident.
She had to believe they were walking now because they were meant to.
Continue on the path you are on.
It had become her mantra. She whispered it, an act that drew curious stares from her fellow travelers. It took four seconds to say. Every fifteen times she repeated the phrase equaled a minute. It helped her keep track of how long they had been walking.
The day dragged on, hot and humid. The forest floor was muddy in places. In other spots it seemed as though the storm hadn’t managed to penetrate the canopies. But the evidence was there in other forms. Branches and trees had been broken like matches. They littered the ground. The area had been hit hard by the storm. What other damage had the region sustained?
She wondered if, over time, storms such as this, and the cold of winter, would eventually reduce the population to nothing.
The sun dipped low and the woods darkened. Shadows melted into the evening.
“We should stop,” Jenny said.
Addison powered on the GPS. The device had managed to lose a quarter of its battery while turned off.
“We’re close,” Addison said. “I think we should keep going.”
“Can’t see anything,” Jenny said. “You want one of us to break an ankle? What’ll we do then?”
Addison stared at the GPS. They’d covered a lot of ground that day and it might only take
another hour or two to get there. But Jenny was right. They’d be navigating in the pitch black soon.
She glanced around, using the final stray rays of sunlight in search of a place to sleep. Wasn’t much around to take shelter, so she led them to the closest tree.
She and Jenny discussed whether Addison would stay with Turk or attempt to travel to Charlotte. The pull to reunite with her grandparents was strong. But, as Jenny argued, without the ATV, there was little point in attempting the journey. It was too far to travel on foot. Plus, she had no idea if they had made it. She wanted to believe life continued on the farm as it always had.
But the evidence she’d seen made a sound argument against that.
Addison decided it didn’t matter what happened to everyone else. Right now, she had three others she was responsible for. She figured Jenny would argue that point as well and insist they share the responsibility over the two girls.
“I’ll take watch first,” Addison said.
Hours passed. The night was darker than she’d ever seen. Every noise sent her heart racing. Her skin tightened and pricked and felt icy cold.
At one point, something passed by close enough she could hear its heavy ragged breathing.
Wolf? Bear? Afflicted?
Could have been anything. It hung around, circling the area, leaves and twigs crunching underfoot. She searched for the telltale eyes of the damned. If she saw them, she’d aim a foot below and open fire.
But she never saw the eyes. Or a figure. It used the surrounding woods to shield itself. The new moon offered no help at all.
In time it seemed the beast grew tired of prowling the area and ran off. Heavy steps trod through the woods, cracking kindling underfoot.
Then silence until the sounds of insects and hoot owls filled the area.
When she could keep her eyes open no longer, Addison woke Jenny and left her with instructions to wake her up at sunrise.
Sleep that night was sporadic, coming in clumps of what she hoped were hours, but more likely were minutes. She drifted in and out.
