by B. T. Wright
Bald veered that direction but didn’t follow the road, instead he pushed through the grass toward what looked like a construction site. Mounds of dirt were stacked high next to a bulldozer. Of course, the bulldozer was unmanned, and the current project would go unfinished. There were hundreds of feet of uprooted grass and plowed topsoil that was now utterly useless.
Colt turned to his right as they ran. A building was there. Again, he wanted to stop. Maybe to look inside? Search for supplies? But he didn’t act. He followed Bald, because he knew best. Eventually, Bald would lead them to a building of importance.
The construction site was large and open, spanning at least two football fields long. Colt’s chest heaved, and his lungs ached. Mentally, he already had his hands on his head, sucking in air, or maybe was bent at the waist with his hands on his knees. But the more he wished to stop, the more he thought of his boys. They had to be tired too, but they didn’t show signs of it. Perhaps they were spurred by fear, or by the desire to find safety.
At the end of the open dirt field was another path that ran north. Colt followed the trees stacked on both sides. Perfect, he thought, but as they turned, Bald ceased running and held up a closed fist. Bald had seen or heard something, there was no questioning it. Colt gripped his rifle tight, never taking his finger off the trigger. His eyes moved to the trees on the right first. They were thick, but not as dense as the sagebrush that lined the path as well. There was rustling inside the wall of shrubbery, but neither Colt nor anyone else in the party could decipher the reason for the movement.
Maybe it was the dropping rain, or perhaps the wind that moved the plant. But Colt didn’t want to leave it chance. He was ready to fire at the first sign of an infected.
A trap? They’ve set another trap. He couldn’t be certain, but deep in his belly, it sure felt like that was the case.
Bald waited only another moment. Yet there was nothing. Then he proceeded slowly. But Colt knew if they went further, they’d come to another section of woods that did not offer useful sightlines. They had little choice—it was either walk the path or take their chances on the open road. The more he thought, taking the road would be the right course of action. At least they’d be out in the open and able to see the enemy approaching. This . . . this seemed like walking into a lion’s den with no escape, again.
Colt couldn’t take his eye off the wall of trees. The path wasn’t wide either. Maybe only twenty feet separated the two tree lines. But then Colt looked ahead, peering over Bald’s head. A clearing was near.
Thank God!
But then rustling from his right shook Colt from his thoughts. Immediately, he swung his rifle toward the sound. Colt was a hunter, always had been. His daddy had taught him never to shoot at anything unless there was a target. The rustling grew louder as the sage shook. Colt’s heart rate sped and sweat appeared on his brow. He mounted the stock of his rifle to his shoulder, expecting to see an infected person at any moment. But what showed itself in that moment was something Colt didn’t expect to see.
A mule deer. A buck, with antlers protruding from the top of its head. Not a full rack, since they hadn’t grown all the way in yet, but there all the same. When the buck saw Colt, it stopped, ceaselessly chewing what was left of the sage in his mouth. The animal wasn’t startled—he didn’t retreat. The deer and Colt shared a moment. On any given day—a day beyond the apocalypse—Colt would’ve appreciated this brush with nature. But he couldn’t continue to witness God’s creation, not then, because at the sound of a shriek, the deer shuddered, and disappeared into the brush.
“Contact!” Bald yelled. “Twelve o’clock.”
The sound of Bald’s gunfire shook Colt back to reality. His head whipped around, as he tried to lock onto another target, but there was none to be had.
Colt leaned into the path and around his boys and the vice president to see the lone infected laying at Bald’s feet. Bald stepped over the infected and proceeded forward, out of the path and into a sea of green grass.
The single-file line of men spread apart and became a cluster once their feet met the tee box of the golf hole. The hole itself was a dogleg to the left. Colt couldn’t see the green, from his position, but then Bald spoke. “I say we stick to the right side of the fairway.” Each man watched as Bald did his best to point the way. “If we do that, we will keep at least one hole between us and the main road. And if I remember correctly, there’s a dirt road—like a golf cart path—behind this green that will lead us all the way home to the academy.”
The rain stopped falling, and Bald walked along at a slower pace. Colt and the remainder of the group followed close and were on heightened alert for the first sign of movement. There was no way only one infected was hunting them.
After walking 100 yards out, they finally reached the rough—the grass that was cut longer than the fairway. Colt stared forward. He could see another opening, a pathway to another hole. There was no tree coverage at all. It was then that Wesley, turned to him and said, “Dad, I have to pee.”
Colt sighed and shooed his comment away. “Not now, buddy, we need to keep moving.”
“But Dad, I really need to go.” His voice was louder now.
“Shh!” Bald turned and reprimanded him for his insistence.
Colt bent down to his son. “Can you hold it just a while longer?”
Wesley dropped his head to the ground and shook it no.
By now, the gap Bald, the vice president, and Dylan created was over twenty feet wide.
Colonel Jenkins leaned over Colt’s shoulder and said, “Just let him go. I’ve got your back.”
Colt glanced up to see Dylan. His son stopped, but only for a second. Colt nodded to him, then grabbed, Wesley’s shoulder and guided him to the opening. At least in the opening there wouldn’t be any surprises, not while his son was vulnerable.
Colonel Jenkins remained close to Colt, who stood by his son. He knew he’d be afraid to pee alone. The rest of the crew stopped their march fifty feet away.
Keeping his eye on the opposite hole parallel to their current position, Colt noticed more movement. But it wasn’t from the ground or behind the bushes of sage, instead the movement came from inside the trees. At least three trees that were planted side by side swayed—not from the wind, but because something was moving them from the inside.
Colt strained to see, then took one step, directly in the puddle of urine his son just left.
“Uh, Dad . . . what are you doing?” Wesley furrowed his brow.
But Colt didn’t speak, he continued his pace until he saw one infected fall. Instantly, he shot upright, and yelled. “They’re in the trees!”
At his call, dozens of infected fell from the limbs. Each landing on its feet and setting off into a sprint.
Colt whipped around to gather Wesley.
“There’s too many! They’re coming from all over!” Colonel Jenkins said.
At once, Colt caught Dylan’s eye in the distance.
Colt stepped toward him, wanting to run. But he couldn’t leave Wesley behind, not in the rush of infected. His eyes were wide with sorrow, with fear. Dylan shared the same look as he gazed into his father’s eyes from far off.
“Dylan! No . . .” But there was nothing Colt could do. He couldn’t go after him.
Dylan spun around and followed on the heels of the vice president and Bald. Colt stared at the back of his son, when Colonel Jenkins approached him and shook him. “We need to run! Now!”
Colt’s mouth hung open in shock. How had this happened? Dylan was his son. His reason to exist. He lost him. And he was out of his protection and at the mercy of the infected.
11
Colt carried Wesley in his arms as he followed Colonel Jenkins, who sprinted back on the plush fairway running toward the tee box. But before their feet could reach the edge of the ladies’ tee, two more infected blocked their path. Colonel Jenkins shifted his route left and entered a cluster of trees.
Colt didn’t agree wit
h the Colonel’s decision. More infected could be waiting, ready to ambush and attack. But with the threat behind and now in front of them, there was little choice.
The trees were denser, but not as thick as the sagebrush. Once inside the first layer, Colt recognized a structure. It couldn’t have been more than 200 feet off. It wasn’t the building they’d witnessed from the road, no this looked like a residence, maybe where the superintendent of the golf course lived.
He shifted Wesley into his other arm. His biceps burned from his heavy weight. He needed to set him down. A fight seemed imminent.
“Colonel,” Colt whispered.
He spun around and locked eyes with Colt. He didn’t need to say another word. He and Colonel Jenkins shared the same idea. In that moment, Colonel Jenkins hit the deck, amongst the shrubbery. Colt set Wesley down next to the colonel and put his index finger to his mouth to keep quiet. Then signaled to Wesley to lay next to Colonel Jenkins.
Colt crouched down, but still stayed upright, getting a bearing on their enemies’ position. There must’ve been over a dozen who’d dropped from the trees. With his hand locked around the handle of his rifle, Colt wondered what he could do.
But as Colt searched, he heard Colonel Jenkins whisper from below. “Colt.”
Colt shot his head to the ground to see Colonel Jenkins holding something in his hand. Colt readjusted his eyes to make sure he wasn’t mistaken. In his open palm, Colonel Jenkins held two hand grenades.
“What the? Where?”
“Hangar,” Colonel Jenkins whispered. “Same crate as the RPG.”
There was another sound ahead, and more movement. Colt saw the brush swaying. The infected were there, no more than a few feet from their current position. If they stalled, they were dead. Before Colt could speak again, Colonel Jenkins pulled the pin on the grenade and let it fly.
The rise of the black projectile caught Colt off guard, and immediately he fell to the ground to protect his son from the flying shrapnel.
“Boom!” Fire erupted from ahead.
Once Colt’s hearing returned, he heard the whines and wails of multiple infected. Colonel Jenkins didn’t wait around to witness another swarm push through the brush. Instead he picked himself off the ground and ran toward the building. Colt lifted Wesley off the ground, and they didn’t stop until they saw the back of the home.
The yard was surrounded by trees and undergrowth. Once through the thickets, they sprinted for the back door. When they reached the back door, Colonel Jenkins reached for the handle.
C’mon. Be open, Colt hoped.
His face curled into a smile when Colonel Jenkins swung the door open. Colt stepped closer and was about to enter, but Colonel Jenkins held is hand up to stop him.
“What are you doing? We don’t have time to wait. Get in there!”
Colonel Jenkins looked at Colt with steely eyes. “If these things are as smart as we think, they’re going to find us here.”
Colt spun his head back around and looked back to the trees. The infected were close—he knew it. No way that grenade had stopped them. Perhaps it had pissed them off even more. “Yeah, sure. But I’m not keeping my son outside any longer.”
Again, Colonel Jenkins held up his hand to cut off Colt’s advance. “I get it. I’m just saying, if we leave the door open, we can let them think we’re inside. Then haul ass somewhere else.”
He had a point, a damn fine one.
“Do you know of a better place to hide?” Colt said.
“There’s plenty along this road. There might even be a vehicle we can boost along the way. Get us back to your son faster.”
A shriek erupted from behind them and shook Colt where he stood. He didn’t even respond to Colonel Jenkins. Without hesitating, he ran away from the property, heading south without a proper bearing.
Quickly, Colt realized they were heading back toward Academy Drive. When his feet met the unforgiving topsoil of the unmoved earth, he stopped, realizing they were out in the open.
Colonel Jenkins caught him from behind, then pulled at his shirt collar and led him east on a dirt path and back into the trees. The thin path of crushed rock carried them directly toward another building. At the backside of the building there was another door—this one glass. Colonel Jenkins approached and pulled it open.
Colt couldn’t believe their luck. But then thought again—it wasn’t luck that kept these doors open, but rather the absence of a maintenance man who would make sure each building was secure.
Colt expected Colonel Jenkins to walk in, but he didn’t. Instead, he reached down, leaving the door open a crack. Then set a grenade on the concrete, wedging it between the ground and the door. When the grenade was jammed, he pulled the pin, leaving the handle compressed.
Colonel Jenkins rose, looked Colt in the eye and said, “Once that door is opened, kaboom!” His eyes got big, and he mimed the explosion with his hands. “Let’s keep going. There’s a parking lot through these trees. If we’re lucky, we’ll find keys and a ride out of here.”
More trees approached, and as they pushed through the next grove, Colt’s thoughts turned to Dylan. Aside from the burst of gunfire they’d heard once they all fled, they hadn’t heard more. Did Bald protect my son? Were they overrun? Is Dylan dead?
That last thought stopped Colt. Instantly, he yelped, “Stop! We have to go back.”
Colonel Jenkins stepped in front of him, coming nose to nose. “Are you crazy? Why? We can’t go back. Did you see how many infected were chasing us?”
“But . . . Dylan, he may be . . .”
“If he’s with Bald, he’s alive. The man’s more than capable of taking care of him. Trust me. He’s fine. Let’s just find a vehicle and make our way back to them. You’ll see him again, that’s a damn promise!”
The pep talk was exactly what Colt needed. He didn’t know Bald well, but Dylan was as stubborn as his mama. And after all she’d been through, she was still alive and kicking. There would always be fight left in the Maddox family, no matter what.
After gathering himself, Colt looked down to Wesley, smiled, and nodded at him.
“C’mon. We’ve got to keep moving,” Colonel Jenkins ducked from under a tree and forced his voice to a whisper.
Holding Wesley’s hand, Colt dropped under the same tree and followed Colonel Jenkins deeper into the woods.
Their pace was quieter now, and not as fast, but that was before an eruption of sound and fire exploded from behind. Shrill screams echoed amongst the trees, and Colonel Jenkins accelerated into a sprint.
Colt’s heart pumped wildly. In fact, it hadn’t stopped pounding to the beat of a battle drum since he saw the first man drop from the tree.
Underneath the trees, Colt saw an open parking lot connected to another set of buildings. There were at least ten cars and trucks parked. Colonel Jenkins stalled at the end of the tree line and waited for Colt and Wesley to catch up.
“I count eleven vehicles,” Colonel Jenkins said.
Colt hadn’t run through the number in his head, but still said, “Looks right.”
“How’s about you take that half, I take the others?”
Instantly, Colt found Wesley’s eye. He knew his youngest son would slow him down and he could work much faster on his own, but he couldn’t leave him alone. Colt searched the area, but there was nothing to hide inside. Everything in front was wide open. Then Colt looked over his son’s head to the trunk of the tree.
Two can play at this game, he thought. “Wesley, can you climb that tree?”
Wesley looked to it, then nodded to his father.
“Then up you go!” He lifted his son under his arms and placed him on the lowest limb.
Colt and Colonel Jenkins watched Wesley climb—at least fifteen feet from the ground. Then they looked to each other and both said, “Ready?”
12
The first vehicle Colt came to was a black SUV. Fancy. Maybe a Lexus or BMW, but Colt didn’t take the time to look. The vehicle was pulled
straight into the parking spot, and only about fifteen feet from the tree line. The windows were tinted dark, almost too dark to see inside. Colt didn’t bother plastering his head against the glass. Instead he reached for the handle and pulled.
Locked.
Damn.
It was only then that Colt pushed his forehead on the glass of the driver’s side window. His vision was cloudy from the tint, but still, he could see the black leather of the seats. Nothing. No sign of keys anywhere.
The next vehicle was across the parking lot and in the next row. A white sedan with a cracked windshield. It was an older car, and Colt’s heartrate climbed as he approached.
If anyone would leave the keys stashed inside, it’d be this car, he thought.
A twinge formed in his belly when he lifted the handle and the car door opened.
Yes!
He dropped inside the driver’s seat and grabbed for the ignition, but no keys were there. He flipped down the mirror above, but again no sign. Lifting his elbow from the center console, he opened it. There were scattered and crumpled papers inside, including an out of date registration form, and a couple of birthday cards, but nothing of use.
It would be foolish to dawdle any longer, so Colt proceeded to the next vehicle. A truck. Not too dissimilar from his F-150. But this truck was newer, and in pristine condition. He moved to the driver’s side door to see the digital keypad. First, he tried the door. He knew it would be locked.
Here goes nothing, he thought, typing in the code 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.
But the doors didn’t unlock.
Figures, idiot.
But Colt was desperate and willing to try anything at this point, including breaking a window if it came to that. But that would be foolish, even now. Not only would he have to break the glass, but as soon as he opened the door, the noise of the car alarm would alert the surrounding infected.
