by L. T. Ryan
Sean glanced at the four sleeping women. He was responsible for them now. All of them.
He returned to his map and the GPS. There was no more danger of the men following them, so he decided to leave it on.
“Good morning, Dad.”
He looked at his daughter and smiled.
“Got any coffee?” she asked.
“When did you start drinking that stuff?”
She smiled. “I’m kidding.”
“I know.”
“Where are we going?”
“Charleston, South Carolina.”
“What’s there?”
“Our one shot at freedom.”
Forty-Six
The bright sunlight knifed through Turk’s closed eyelids. He brought his hand to his face, blinked a few times, and glanced around. The events of the previous day raced through his mind. He became aware of where he was, and why. An intense pain wracked his stomach and chest.
Sarah lay on the floor next to him. He reached out and grabbed her shoulder, shaking it gently.
“Wake up,” he said.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“In a shed, near my compound.”
She sat up, stretched her arms and shifted so she faced him. “You ready to go out there?”
“No,” he said. “But I’m going to. I don’t know what I’m going to find. You can stay in here if you want.”
“I’m coming with you,” she said.
She opened the shed door. The cool morning air rushed in and kicked up layers of dust and dirt. Turk watched the fallout float through the penetrating rays of the sun. The wind carried the scent of a burned out camp fire. He knew it was more than that, though.
He spotted a flashlight on a shelf. It could come in handy later. He grabbed it and tested it. It worked. He pulled Sarah back and scanned the area in front of them before stepping outside. “Okay, Sarah, it’s clear. Come on out.”
They walked toward the patch of scorched earth. The rain had put out the fire. Turk headed toward the primary hatch. He pulled back the hidden door and saw that everything on this side of the hatch had been seared. The panel next to the tunnel door had melted away. The controls were damaged. He looked back at Sarah.
“I’m gonna see if I can open it.” He lowered himself into the hole and tried the door. It cracked open. This was a bad sign. The only way it would do that is if the fire had either originated from or reached inside the bunker. It was a failsafe so that occupants could escape.
Sarah dropped down next to him.
He glanced back at her, but said nothing. They walked through the tunnel in silence. Turk feared what he would find inside the bunker. He wanted their trek underground to never end. It had to, though, and it did when he reached the door. He found it unlocked as well. He pushed it open. The living area and kitchen were scorched. A quick assessment told him that the ventilation system and all the cabling had been damaged. The fire traveled between the bunker and the field through the lines he had run to the security cameras and the conduit that housed them.
They moved through the bunker, room by room. He found people in their beds, on a couch, on the floor. They were all permanently asleep. In five minutes, he accounted for everyone but his wife and daughter.
They returned to the central area. Turk stopped in front of his bedroom door. He took a deep breath and pushed it open. He braced himself in case he found his Elena and Layla dead in bed.
The room was empty.
“Where are they?” Sarah asked.
“Follow me.”
Turk led her through the room to the second tunnel. His wife was the only other person that knew about it. She must have known about the fire, seen the smoke, and used tunnel to get out. Only problem was, he didn’t see any evidence that the ground hatch had been disturbed when they’d walked past it.
Turk pulled the door open and jogged down the hall. The door at the other end was open. He called out. “Elana. Layla.”
There was no response.
He kept running. Two figures became visible. Turk called out again.
“Daddy!”
He ran faster. Sarah fell behind. He didn’t stop.
When he reached the door his heart leapt and fell at the same time. Layla sat next to her mother’s body. Next to them was a single rebreather. Elana had brought it along and left it for Layla to use. She sacrificed her life for her daughter’s.
Turk dropped to his knees. He hugged Layla.
“She won’t wake up,” Layla said.
Turk moved the girl out of the way. He reached for his wife, placing his hand on her neck. She felt warm. “Come on, Elana. Come on, let that heart beat.” There was nothing to indicate it did. He repositioned his hand and leaned forward until his cheek pressed against her nose. He felt a slight thump against his finger. He adjusted his hand again to rule out his own pulse being the source. He felt it again. Then he felt her warm breath hitting his face.
“Turk,” she whispered.
He leaned back, smiling.
“Here,” Sarah said, handing him the oxygen tank. “Give her some of that.”
Turk administered the oxygen while cradling his wife in his arms. The oxygen pumped into her lungs. Her color returned and soon she sat up on her own.
“How’re you feeling?” he asked her.
“Bad,” she said. “They’re all gone, aren’t they?”
Turk nodded.
Tears rolled down her cheeks. “What do we do now? Can we stay here?”
Turk shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t care right now, either. I thought I had lost you two.”
“I won’t let you lose us, Turk.” She looked toward Sarah. “Who’s this?”
“Her name’s Sarah. She’s gonna join us now.”
Elana extended her hand toward the younger woman. “Welcome to my home.”
Turk couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the statement. He settled himself, and said, “You guys stay here while I go lock that other hatch. That’ll keep us somewhat safe while we figure out whether or not we can stay here any longer.”
He left the women, venturing back through the tunnel and the compound. There was no way they could stay, he realized that. All systems were gone, and without ventilation, they’d die of asphyxiation sooner or later. A product of their own respiratory systems. That news could wait a few hours. For now, a family would relish in being reunited, and a stranger would have a new place to call home.
And Turk would rest for a bit before gathering them and starting on their journey to the harbor.
DESCENDED IN BLOOD
One
Phil Duncan surveyed what remained of his camp from the ridge. Lingering smoke crawled through the trees. It skewed his vision and left his mouth dry, his throat raw. It only attempted to mask what he already knew. Below was a scene of devastation. Loss.
His son lay on the rocky ground, blood flowing from a head wound, unconscious. If someone, or something, other than Ralph returned with news, could Phil leave his son to die there?
Undoubtedly.
After all, Derrick had led Sean Ryder to the camp. And when Sean left, they appeared. Peering through the leaves at the bodies scattered on the ground, betrayed didn’t begin to describe the way Phil felt. A hundred people, give or take, and it looked as though all had perished in the attack. He’d let Sean leave, and in turn was repaid in blood.
If it hadn’t been for the tunnel under his cabin, he would have suffered the same fate. His son almost had, and perhaps still would. If it hadn’t been for Derrick, Phil would have left the kid behind.
He shuffled along the edge. A seventy-foot drop, at least. Enough to end a man, although not right away in all instances. There were ways one could fall and survive. For a while. The injuries sustained would be too grave to last in the wild.
Everything is wild now.
The camp was the last bastion of civilization.
Did others exist? Would those communities welcome Phil the way h
e did to survivors who’d managed to stumble into the camp? If so, he knew he’d be better off living the rest of his life alone, wandering the woods and foraging through abandoned homes for canned goods and supplies.
Phil glanced down at Derrick as the young man moaned.
“Get up, boy,” Phil said.
Derrick’s eyes opened for a second, then fell shut.
Phil stopped in front of his son. Staring down, he wondered if it would be worth trying to travel with Derrick. The man lacked the ability to follow directions and trouble seemed to follow him everywhere. In the camp, the effect had been mitigated. There were enough people around to prevent Derrick from drawing attention to the group. But in the woods and burned out towns, he would only bring trouble to Phil and Ralph, and whoever else remained alive below.
Derrick moaned again as he lifted his head an inch off the ground.
He’ll never survive out there.
Phil lifted his right leg and positioned his boot over his son’s throat. Lowering it, he convinced himself it was the right thing to do. Not only would Derrick die in this new world if forced to fend for himself, he’d take Phil down, too. And that was unacceptable.
Derrick’s moans gave way to a grating, gargling sound. Though he hadn’t moved in over an hour, he managed to bring both arms, one of which had a five-inch gash, up and around Phil’s leg.
Phil adjusted and steadied himself. Derrick’s grip weakened, his face paled, and his lips turned blue. Their gazes met and locked for a moment. And in those few seconds, Phil recounted dozens of memories with his son. A tug-of-war ensued within.
“Dammit,” he said, easing off Derrick’s throat. “Damn you, son.”
Derrick, wide-eyed and alert, rolled toward the rock wall, gasping and grunting as he did so. A trail of blood from his re-aggravated arm injury followed him.
Phil approached, stopping three feet shy. “You do what I say when I say it if you want to live. One slip up, one mess up, one fuck up, and I’ll finish the job.”
Derrick said nothing. He pressed his hand against the gaping wound. Blood seeped between his fingers.
Phil leaned forward so that their faces were less than a foot apart. “Understand me?”
Derrick nodded, then closed his eyes and lowered his head. A failed attempt to hide his tears.
“For Christ’s sake. Crying is an offense punishable by death.” Phil rose and turned toward the camp, surveying through the trees once again, looking for any sign of life below, hoping that the right people had survived. It wasn’t enough to have a group of people surrounding him. It had to be those he could count on. The ones who fulfilled a purpose, and were capable of taking care of themselves.
People unlike Derrick.
Phil figured for every survivor comparable to his son, he would need at least four competent men or women to make up the difference. What were the chances even that many survived?
Hand around his pistol’s grip, Phil shifted toward a rustling of leaves below. Ralph emerged from the trees, his face drawn and grim.
“How many survivors?” Phil asked his old friend.
“Including us?” He looked from Phil to Derrick, paused, and then glanced up through the foliage. “Three.”
A weight pressed down on Phil’s chest and stomach. “You’re kidding.”
“Wishin’ I was. They’re all dead, man. Slaughtered. Torn to shreds.”
Phil teetered on the edge of the ledge. The smoke stung his throat and left a metallic taste in his mouth. Everyone dead. His plan to survive in this new world erased in a single night. The guilt he felt at not remaining to fight suffocated him. When had he become the kind of man to run?
But would it have mattered? Likely not. He’d have perished like those below. And then what? Who would be left to carry on amid those things? Who would keep the memories and hopes and dreams of a group alive?
“Jenny?” he asked, refusing to look Ralph in the eye.
Ralph hesitated, a sign that the news was as grave as everything he’d already said. “Didn’t find her.”
“What?” Phil said, glancing up in an attempt to read the look on Ralph’s face.
“She wasn’t among the bodies.”
“Look underground?”
“I did, and everyone down there was dead. I’m tellin’ you, she’s not down there.”
Though the relationship between Phil and his step-daughter had been rocky at best, Jenny would be an asset if they were on the move. More so than Derrick. She was smart, tough, fit, and had a mean streak.
“Guessing she managed to get out,” Ralph said.
“No.” Phil looked past the camp, toward the south. “Ryder took her.”
“What?”
“I can feel it.” He glanced back at Ralph, who now had a look of disbelief or confusion on his face. “Our gear?”
Ralph shook his head as though to recall the images of what he found. “Still got a couple ATVs down there.”
“Weapons?”
“Yeah. Guess they wasn’t really interested in rifles and pistols.”
“We shouldn’t be either.” Phil held his hand out, index finger extended like a barrel, thumb up like a hammer. “Remember the gunshot we heard last night right after Ryder left?”
Ralph shrugged, then nodded. “Yeah, I ‘member.”
“I get the feeling that drew them in.”
“How? It could’ve been the smell of food. Maybe our piss and shit attracted them.”
“They’re predators,” Phil said. “Maybe they hone in on the scent, but I doubt that. Though they have no soul, they are born from flesh, and frankly, our sense of smell isn’t that great. But any of us can hear something and then follow the sound. The gunshot drew them toward us. Once they were close enough, maybe they honed in on the smell of the camp and that brought them in.”
Ralph shrugged again. “Beyond me, man.”
“Fatal flaw,” Phil said, more to himself. “Any above ground encampment is at risk of being found by them. And it doesn’t matter how large of a population you have.”
A few minutes of silence passed.
“What now?” Ralph asked.
“We should get moving,” Phil said.
“Won’t the ATVs give us away?”
Phil nodded. “I suppose, but we’ll be moving fast. And we’ll have you as a gunman.”
“Where to?”
“That system rigged to the machine we let Ryder leave on, can we track it?”
“It’s paired with number four.”
“How far can we track it?”
“As far as needed. It’s all through the satellites.” Concern spread across Ralph’s face as he looked up at the sky. “That is if the satellites are still working.”
“Why wouldn’t they be?” Phil asked.
“Just ‘cause of what’s going on down here.”
“It’s not like these zombie things made it to outer space.”
Ralph’s cheeks turned red and he looked away.
“Never mind that. Let’s get going.” Phil started on the narrow path that led through the woods to the camp. There would be no danger in remaining above ground now.
“Phil?” Ralph called out.
He stopped and glanced back. “What?”
“What about him?”
Phil exhaled in an attempt to relieve himself of the guilt over wanting to leave his son behind. It didn’t work.
“If you can get him down there then he can come.”
He knew that Ralph could, and would, help Derrick down. And it didn’t matter. Once they were on the ATV, Derrick wouldn’t slow them down in their quest to find Jenny.
And take care of Sean Ryder.
Two
The cabin had been abandoned. No blood. Nothing broken. No sign of struggle or sickness or human death. Almost everything remained behind. Pictures. Clothes. Food. Even the cat, as evidenced by the corpse they found trapped in one of the bedrooms. The gun cabinet was barren, though. A disappointment, for sure, a
s Sean broke the lock and pulled the door open.
The ATV Phil had given them at the camp came equipped with four M4 rifles. Sean wanted to add something concealable. He began to feel regretful again over not going back to his bunker. The debate raged in his mind. Supplies including food, ammunition, and communication equipment all remained behind. He knew it would have been the wrong choice. They would have backtracked twenty miles. There was no guarantee that the distance was passable. If he’d have taken them there, they might all be dead.
Keep pushing south.
Not like he had a choice. He had to reach Turk in South Carolina. Long-term survival depended on the men reuniting. Things might not be any better there, but as a team, they could overcome most any odds. Plus, the way Turk explained things, there were other men with similar backgrounds there. As a unit, they could repel hostiles and rebuild a community for a large number of survivors.
The vision played in Sean’s mind, as it had dozens of times. One of a new world born from the scorched remains of humanity.
But first, they had to get to South Carolina. The journey would not be easy. He was assured of that.
He scanned the tree line. He’d been at it all morning, on watch while the females slept inside. They’d found the place a few hours before daybreak, halfway between Danville and South Boston, Virginia. Two miles from the North Carolina border. The house sat on top of a hill with a clearing in front and woods in the back. Not ideal, but it was good enough to take a break, catch some sleep, and sort things out while he determined the best approach for the rest of their journey.
They had over three hundred miles to cover. A trip that would have taken no more than six hours by car. A straight shot along I-74 and I-95. Things weren’t so simple now. What were the highways like? Clogged with abandoned vehicles? Patrolled by militant survivors? A buffet for the afflicted? Sean didn’t want to risk their safety by attempting to find out.
The safest bet was to remain in close proximity to the interstate, but travel along back roads through the woods as much as possible. Doing so would add considerable time to their journey, but this was a case where getting there fast wasn’t the best option. He’d keep their heading steady, as where they needed to go was almost a straight shot south.
