by L. T. Ryan
More people stepped out and blocked the path. There were two guys armed with assault rifles, and a young woman with a pistol. Every step Turk took forward, she took a matching one backward.
Are there more behind the dunes?
Turk scanned the top of the mounds. He shifted his gaze to the row of homes that ran the length of Sullivan’s Island. A mixture of modern overgrown vacation houses and older beach bungalows on stilts. Doors flapped open in the quickening breeze. Windows were smashed. Mangled and shredded bodies were strewn on wooden decks.
Turk reached the path between the dunes. The two men took position on either side of Turk. The woman held steadfast ten feet away. She scrutinized him through narrowed eyelids.
“Stop here,” the guy in the combat boots said.
The woman took a few steps forward. “Take off your shirt.”
“Fuck you,” Turk said.
“You can go back into the ocean, only this time with bound hands and a gunshot wound,” the guy behind him said, jabbing Turk in the kidney, careful to retreat before Turk could make a move.
Turk pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it halfway between him and the woman.
She gestured with her pistol. “Where’d you get those scratches on your side?”
“Running through the woods from some crazy ass rednecks.”
“Drop your pants.”
“You serious with this shit?”
“Just do it,” the guy behind him said.
“Christ.” Turk unbuttoned his pants. The damp fabric clung to his skin. He shook each leg until the pants fell around his ankles. He held his arms out to the side. “Happy?”
“Almost. Turn around.”
He took a deep breath while studying their faces. The guys looked scared, like they were going about this because they had no choice. Reminded him of the two idiots from the base. The woman appeared indifferent. She’d done this before, and she’d do it again as many times as necessary. Why? Turk only had guesses. If he didn’t do it right, or they didn’t like what they saw, they would shoot him and not care one way or another about it.
“Turn.” She twirled her index finger in a circle.
He shuffled in a half-circle, coming face to face with his original captor and getting a good look at his face for the first time. It was like looking at the woman dressed as a man. Take away her long hair and his stubble and they were the same person.
Twins.
“So you guys like to prowl the beach to harass survivors?” Turk said.
“No,” the guy said. “We figure you never know what kind of trash will wash up.”
The men behind Turk laughed.
“Shut up,” the woman said. “What are these scars from?”
“This and that,” Turk said. He’d decided to keep information about himself to a minimum until he knew more about the group’s intentions.
“Were you shot?”
“Maybe.”
“Shrapnel?”
“Exploding popcorn machine at the movie theater. Hot butter’s a bitch.”
The guy took a step back and hefted his rifle. He aimed at Turk’s mid-section. “That’s enough.”
“What do you guys want from me?” Turk bent over and pulled his pants up. He turned around. “I got swept out of the harbor by the current. No idea how long I spent out there. Took everything I had to get back to shore. And now the last thing I need is to be questioned by a bunch of new world commandos who don’t know the first thing about the weapons they’re holding.”
“What were you doing in the harbor?” she asked.
“Looking for anything to help,” he said. “What else?”
“Why were you near the jetty? Only thing close to that is the fort.”
Turk said nothing.
“You tried to approach the fort?” she asked. “Did you see anything? Are they still there?”
“Who?”
She held his gaze for a moment, then looked past him. “We’ve been out here too long. Let’s get him inside.”
Turk rolled his tongue around the inside of his mouth and collected several of the loose grains of sand. He spat them to the side.
“Was who still there?” Turk said.
She turned his back on him and walked away.
Why had she buttoned up after mentioning the fort? Had the group come from there? Or were they repelled as well?
“Let’s move,” the guy behind him said.
The woman led the way to a sand covered boardwalk. Turk followed her. The two men with rifles remained a few steps behind him. One kept watch over Turk. The other watched the houses. Turk followed the man’s gaze, not confident that the guy was adept enough at spotting danger.
The woman stopped in front of the seventh house. It was an old bungalow on stilts. Looked like faded jeans, its blue paint stained and streaked. Rust spread outward from nails in the trim. Without maintenance, the houses on the beach would succumb to the elements, either from a big storm, or years of salt eating away at the building materials.
A pile of weathered lumber was stacked along the side fence. Then Turk noticed there were no stairs leading to the deck.
The woman said, “We removed them once it was evident they were killing people. Those people—things—they aren’t smart enough to climb up without stairs.”
“Nice move,” Turk said.
A moment later, someone lowered a ladder. The woman climbed up first. Turk followed. Two men armed with pistols waited on the deck. Turk looked past them and spotted three women inside. They gathered in the kitchen, watching two children playing on the floor.
The woman pulled back the sliding glass door. It took some effort. The door screeched on a rusted track and seemed as though it wanted to jump off. She entered the house, leaving Turk alone with the men.
“Got a name?” The guy in black boots led Turk to the corner of the deck.
“Turk. You?”
“Rob.” He lit a cigarette then pointed at the two guys from the beach. “Those two are Jim and Randy. And those guys over there are the Griffin brothers. Just yell that out and one of them will respond.”
“This your place?” Turk asked.
Rob took a drag off his cigarette. Smoke leaked from his mouth when he spoke. “Been in our family for years. Our grandparents built it. I take it you figured out me and Rose are siblings?”
“Twins.”
“Sure enough. Anyway, my grandparents bought the land and built this place years ago, before we were born. So, we were here taking an after summer vacation when the world went crazy. It hit here about the same time the first reports were shown on TV. Over the past couple weeks we took a few stragglers in. Had a couple leave in the middle of the night last week. Kind of set everyone on edge. Wondering, will they return with others?”
“Why the questions about the fort?”
Rob shrugged, looked away and said nothing. The gestures did little to resolve the question running through Turk’s mind.
Randy stepped back from his perch at the other end of the deck. “Got a few staggering down the street. We should get in before they hone in on us.”
The Griffins secured the ladder, then followed Jim and Randy inside. Rob stood in front of the doorway. He aimed his rifle at Turk.
“You know if you shoot that,” Turk said, “they’ll be on you like a fly on shit.”
“Can I trust you, Turk?”
Turk said nothing. It wasn’t as simple as replying yes or no. Rob was making his mind up about the stranger he’d found washed up on the beach. Did Turk pose a threat? Was he potentially useful enough to mitigate that threat?
“What were you really doing in the harbor?” Rob asked. “All those boats out there are damaged. Hell, some might be harboring afflicted. I still haven’t seen one of them full-blown zombies in the water. Figure for all their ability to move, run and kill, they can’t figure out how to swim. Gotta be a chance one or two made it onto one of those boats and is now stuck out there.”
&
nbsp; How to respond? The truth? How much of it to tell the guy? These people could be an asset. Or they might be feeling Turk out to see if he was worth shaking down.
“I was looking for a raft or some kind of small vessel. The kind of thing I could work my way down the shore on while looking for something larger that I can sail.”
Rob seemed to consider this. “What would you do if you found one? I mean, once the gas is gone, it’s gone. Not gonna find any in the middle of the Atlantic. Right?”
“Has to be the right one, man. A sailboat.”
“And what would you do? Just sail around? What about maintenance and all that?”
“Safer out there than on land.” Turk glanced over his shoulder and spotted the small pack of afflicted. They were gathered a block away. “Speaking of which, we should get inside.”
Rob looked past Turk. “Not just yet. I’m trying to figure this out. So, you were in the harbor, swimming boat to boat. Right?”
Turk nodded, said nothing.
“And then you swam out to the fort?”
He nodded again.
“And then you got carried out in the current, and from there you made it back to shore?” He smoothed his stubble with his left hand. “How long were you in the fucking water, dude?”
Turk shrugged. “Couple hours, give or take.”
“Who are you?”
If Rob planned on killing Turk, he’d have done it already. He assumed Rob was assessing how useful Turk could be to the group. Turk couldn’t be sure if it was as a member of it, or a tool for them to use.
“I was a SEAL for twenty years. I had a bunker not far from town, but an electrical fire destroyed everything that made it useful. I came into Charleston looking for a way out. With my training, I could make it to the Caribbean if I found the right boat. Plenty of islands down there that were near deserted before this all went down. As fast as the virus hit, there’s a good chance those islands are still deserted. During my search, I went on base, the Coast Guard station. Got cornered and had to dive into the harbor. You know what happened from there.”
Rob nodded and lowered his weapon.
“Now tell me what you know about the fort,” Turk said.
“In a minute.” Rob slid the door open. “Let’s get inside before those things notice us.”
Thirteen
A hundred sets of eyes peered at Sean from within the shadows of the woods. At least it felt that way. The open road exposed him. At the same time, it allowed for faster travel. Faster did not equate to safer, though. Obstacles remained. Anyone—or anything—could see him. In the stillness, the ATV’s engine sounded like a 747 on takeoff. The wind that rustled tree leaves carried the rumble further. Sean was sure every afflicted within a ten mile radius could hear the ATV even when it was idling.
The woods weren’t any better. The nature of the forest made travel slow unless traveling along a maintained trail or an old logging road. Stops and restarts were common, resulting in the need to back out of a tangle of trees and overgrowth of brush. There was no way to know if a group of afflicted had cut off the path back.
After scanning ahead, Sean slowed the ATV in the middle of the road and studied the GPS. The medical facility was close. It did not appear to be a major hospital judging by the name. Was it worth stopping there? He scanned for a larger facility, but turned up nothing within three miles. Any further would lead him into the city. Not worth the risk.
Even a basic doc-in-the-box clinic stocked the necessary supplies. Gauze, scissors, a scalpel, surgical sutures, and antibiotics. Everything Sean needed to help Barbara and prepare for any future injuries.
So long as the place hadn’t been looted.
A hospital contained that, and more. And in greater quantities. Supplies were stored everywhere.
A downside existed, though.
Hospitals invited death. They were a breeding ground for it. The kind of place that attracted a horde of afflicted.
Worth the risk? Sean wasn’t so sure. And on top of that, time factored into the equation.
He’d left Emma, Addison, Jenny and Barbara behind. They had found an abandoned campsite in the woods with a cinder block shelter that locked from the inside.
The decision pained Sean. No one could protect Emma as well as him. But by concerning himself with her safety, he risked being unable to complete the task.
Addison argued up a storm in an effort to come along with Sean. He had almost considered it after the courage she’d displayed at the house. But it was how she handled herself when they had been surrounded by attackers that he asked her to stay with Jenny to protect Emma and Barbara.
In the ideal scenario, Sean would have located supplies within a mile of the camp. Didn’t work out that way. The closest he found was the clinic, and that was over two miles away.
Sean took one last glance at the screen. He wondered what lay beyond edges of the LCD screen. What if a larger facility existed in a more remote location? The chances of that were unlikely. Not in the Research Triangle area.
They could travel east, but things bunched up in that direction. Sean dreaded the thought of leading his group any closer to Raleigh. He pictured streets littered with bands of armed survivors and hordes of ravenous afflicted. Both groups posed a threat to Sean and the women.
Barbara’s condition had to be taken into consideration, too. Her injury was serious, and she was fading fast. In time she would turn unresponsive. She would become a liability. At least until she expired. Every minute that passed brought her closer to that outcome.
Sean had to act now, and had to do so at the clinic.
A half-mile away from his destination, Sean ventured into the woods and wove through the trees until the vegetation hid him from the road. A thick bush offered a decent spot to hide the vehicle. He cut the engine and attuned himself to the environment. The humming in his ears faded from a deep rumble to a high-pitched squeal.
He had to travel due north to reach the clinic. He took several steps in that direction and stopped.
The GPS.
The device was their lifeblood. Sure, he could reach the campsite without it. Probably Charleston, too. But he needed it to pinpoint the entrance to Turk’s compound.
Sean removed the GPS from its mount and tried to shove it in his pocket. It was too thick to fit. Even if it did, the weight of the device might yank his pants off his hips.
He cursed under his breath and carried the GPS in his left hand, while holding the M4 with his right. If it came down to it, he would ditch the device in favor of the firearm.
The hum in his ears faded. The sounds of his feet crushing dead leaves penetrated the silent woods. He heard no birds. No insects. No squirrels yelling out to the others about an approaching threat.
He felt as though he stood in a vacuum.
Sean grew aware of the sheen of sweat that had formed on his brow. The skin on his arms prickled. His gut tightened. He tried to shake the feeling that something bad lurked ahead.
He moved twenty feet at a time, taking cover behind thick oaks and elms, using their massive trunks to hide him while he scanned ahead, to the side, and behind. He darted to the right. Then left. Backtracked a few times.
What’s the worst that can happen?
Death. But his fears lay elsewhere. His death would lead to Barbara’s. Emma would be on her own with only Addison and Jenny to look after her. The women had done a solid job at the house in Virginia. They followed Sean’s orders. But they weren’t experienced enough, or prepared for the difficult road they faced.
What would become of them if left to their own devices?
The same as most other people, Sean guessed.
At least Jenny had survivalist training from her step-father. Addison had a toughness about her. She was the kind of person who refused to allow something as simple as the apocalypse to ruin her life, even if it already had.
Sean regretted the decision to travel with the ATV. It bought him some time, but if something happened,
the women would have to continue on foot. Barring them miraculously finding the ATV in the woods. In his gut, he knew where they would go. Addison would insist they travel to her grandparents, over a hundred miles away.
How long would that take them?
A week, at least.
And that was assuming they could navigate without the GPS. Sean considered the route the women would take. A west-south-west trajectory would carry them past I-74 and get them to I-85. Addison had said the farm was west of Charlotte, so they would have to cross the Interstate, open and exposed on the abandoned blacktop. The major arteries scared him most. Plenty of survivors would attempt to travel on them as they offered the most direct route anywhere. And plenty of people with less than honorable intentions would wait by them knowing the draw the thoroughfares held.
The debate raged on in Sean’s head. A pointless exercise that passed the time and kept him distracted from the dangers surrounding him.
Leaving the ATV would have been a disastrous mistake had someone been following them. They would have tracked the noise to the camp. It would have only been a matter of time until they located the women. By Sean taking the vehicle another mile or so away, anyone trailing would have followed the sound. The woodland location would also give Sean the benefit of surprise upon returning.
Focus ahead.
He cleared his mind of thoughts about the ATV, Addison and Jenny, dying Barbara, and Emma. She was the toughest to forget. But second by second, step by step, he managed to force all concerns away, and focused solely on the mission.
A shriek cut through the silence like a guillotine through a neck. Hundreds of crows tore through the canopy. The world around him shuddered. The treetops rattled. Fresh leaves floated in the wind.
Sean took cover. He pressed his back to the bark and worked around the trunk. He saw nothing. But the forest made it difficult to see more than fifty feet in any direction.
He glanced at the GPS. Less than a hundred yards stood between him and the road.
He had to push forward.
The commotion continued as Sean covered the remaining distance without stopping, without looking back, without wondering about the source of the horrific scream.
