Roads Less Traveled (Book 3): Shades of Gray

by C. Dulaney

  “Well?”

  “Three deadheads, dragging ass this way,” John panted, winded from his sprint.

  “Where?”

  John jerked a thumb over his shoulder and pressed his other hand to the small of his back, straightening slowly. “There’s an old house on the other side of those trees. I think they came from there. Shouldn’t be a problem.”

  Jonah turned back to the fire and pulled his right hand from his pocket. After a few hand gestures to Waters, he tapped John’s chest and headed off toward the trees, unslinging his rifle as his boots crunched against the pavement. His fingers were nearly numb from the cold by the time he crossed into darkness.

  “Lead the way,” he said, stepping aside and letting John brush by.

  Rifles raised, they crept through the trees, John surprising Jonah with the level of stealth he displayed. The guy was big and usually moved like a bulldog, so this was definitely something new. The deeper into the trees they stalked, the more wary Jonah became. Fortunately, John palmed his small flashlight and lit up their path before Jonah caved and bugged out.

  “Holy ─” Jonah inhaled. John had led them right up to the deadheads. Literally. “John… don’t ever fucking do that again.”

  The big man glanced over his shoulder and chuckled, shaking his bald head a few times before returning his attention to the crawlers a few feet in front of him. Jonah wasn’t sure whether the lower halves of their bodies had rotted away, or if they’d been ripped off. Either way, all three deadheads were nothing except torsos with arms and clacking teeth.

  “Shoot ‘em and get it over with,” Jonah said after staring at the crawling messes for a moment.

  “Yeah, yeah. On it.”

  John slung his rifle and pulled his sidearm. As he leveled the barrel on the closest zombie, which was basically nothing but a skull with teeth, a cold wind picked up and slammed an odor into his face. It was so strong, John reflexively stumbled back against Jonah. He jerked around to face the cowboy, whose eyes were already registering what John was realizing.

  Not counting the three crawlers, they weren’t alone.

  “Well this is a bitch,” John swore.

  Jonah turned and ran, John hot on his heels.

  * * *

  Mia hopped up and down in place trying to stay warm. She was wearing a heavy coat and a wool hat, but standing in one spot for three hours in the middle of a November night was still goddamn cold no matter what you were wearing. She was also hungry, which only added to her irritation. Waters had the entire convoy on rations that wouldn’t even keep a squirrel alive. Mia tried not to think about it, like she tried not to think about how freaking ridiculous it was to have a watch to begin with. Why didn’t everyone sleep in the armored vehicles?

  She also tried not to think about how angry she’d been feeling lately. Not annoyed, not irritated, but royally pissed. All the time. Michael was sinking into depression, John was getting reckless, Jonah was becoming paranoid, Kasey was somber and morose, and Jake was way more serious than what could possibly be healthy for him. So why not? It made sense that she would be the one to succumb to rage. The only member of their group still alive who had not shown any signs of wear and tear from the goddamn Zombpocalypse was Gus.

  What I wouldn’t give to be a dog.

  “This is fucking bullshit,” she whispered. The verbal curse made her feel better, but only momentarily. Feet pounding the ground in the darkness beyond ruined the fleeting moment.

  * * *

  “Incoming! Incoming!” Jonah shouted in the general direction of the campfire.

  The five soldiers were on their feet without question and raising their weapons in the direction of the trees. Two seconds after Jonah yelled his warning, Mia came tearing out of the meadow on the other side of the road, waving one arm and calling out the same basic warning. A few seconds after that, Jake, Michael, and I were joining them, running frantically from our previous guard locations. Gus beat us back, four legs proving quicker than two once more.

  “Adder!” Waters yelled, but Rabbit was already climbing into the middle Humvee and taking up position behind the 50 cal.

  Michael raised his rifle. “We got runners!”

  “No shit!” Jake answered.

  “Church, Willis, right flank. Jonese, you’re with me on the left,” Waters barked. “You assholes, cover our front and rear! Move it!”

  I assumed by assholes, he meant us, so I moved to the front without asking.

  “Thought you said we wouldn’t have this problem anymore,” Jake said.

  Mia answered for me. “Shut up and get ready.”

  She was on my left, Jake on my right. Gus had crawled underneath the vehicle, and ironically, I was more worried for him than I was for us. We could hear the runners’ growls and screams. They were noticeably quieter than the last time we had faced any deadheads.

  Maybe that was a good sign.

  “Here they come.”

  * * *

  “Don’t waste time aiming, just open up and mow their asses down,” John said as the runners staggered onto the road, tripping over the tall grass and weeds that lined both ditches.

  Michael picked his first shot. “No, John! Aim! We don’t have automatics!”

  The runners were torn up pretty badly and weren’t moving as well as they used to. They still jerked and vaulted forward, making it a bitch to get a steady bead on their heads.

  “Take out their knees and hips if you have to! Don’t waste time!” Jonah shouted. He squeezed the trigger, leading by example as a runner twisted sideways and fell face first onto the road, his hip blown to pieces.

  Above them, Rabbit opened up on the 50 cal., cutting the blacktop and taking the legs out from under six of the runners closest to the men on the ground. He swung his body around and did the same on his right side, repeating this in a circle. Swing, fire, swing, fire, doing what he could to keep the runners off the people below him, giving them time to put down the rest. It was messy, chaotic, and nerve-wracking, but it got the job done and no one died.

  Seconds after the attack had begun, it was over.

  * * *

  “Jesus,” I wheezed. My arms were shaking and my legs felt boneless.

  “Yeah…that was a whole mess of crap all at once,” Jake said, then promptly bent over and puked.

  Mia grabbed his rifle before he dropped it and patiently waited beside him, studying me and glancing around at the bodies lying on the road. That girl had nerves of steel.

  “Jesus,” I said again in a hoarse falsetto, dragging one hand through my hair.

  “Hey, everyone in one piece?” the one they called Church asked, coming around the Humvee behind us. He jerked to a halt before running into Jake, who was still bent over with his hands on his knees. Church wrinkled his nose, Jake dry-heaved a few more times.

  “Basically, yeah.” I leaned my weight against the hood. “You guys?”

  “We’re good. Cap’ wants us to make sure those sonsabitches are down for good, so uh─” He glanced at Jake again, then looked back at me, one eyebrow cocked. “Whenever you can, sweep our front?”

  “Will do,” I said and slapped the hood. “Clean it up, Jake. Got a job to do.” I slung my rifle and pulled my pistol, stepping around Mia, who had propped Jake’s rifle against the grill and was already halfway to the first twitching runner.

  “You’re an asshole,” Jake groaned in between heaves.

  “Yeah, I know. Let’s go.”

  Church disappeared around the side of the Humvee. Jake straightened up like an old man, wiped his mouth, pulled his sidearm, and followed me a few yards down the road. Mia was systematically throwing lead between the eyes of every single runner, whether they were still moving or not. I think it was mostly a relief-valve for her, so I didn’t stop it. The dull orange glow the fire cast on our immediate surroundings was highlighted by the pulsing flashes of muzzle flare. If Collins had been there, looking down from above, it might have looked like a summer night fille
d with fireflies.

  Of course, if Collins had been there, he would have seen a group of runners twice the size of the gang we’d just put down, drawn by the sound of gunfire, heading straight for us.

  * * *

  “Get your ass outta my face, Gus,” Jake grumbled. He shoved at the beagle, who had taken up residence in the front. The dog had his front paws on the dash, causing his tail to thump lazily against Jake’s chin.

  It was well past 2 o’clock in the morning and raining hard. Waters had ordered everyone to load up and move out after the attack a few hours earlier. Mia finally got her wish; we’d be sleeping in the Humvees and rotating drivers the rest of the way to Pency. Which shouldn’t have taken any longer than a day, if the roads were clear of car wrecks and debris as Collins had indeed reported before heading back to Blueville Correctional.

  “Leave him be, Jake. He’s enjoying himself,” I said.

  Willis chuckled behind the wheel. “Least someone’s enjoying himself.”

  “Hardy fuckin’ har.” Jake shoved once more at Gus’ behind before turning his face to the door window.

  The sky was clogged with storm clouds, hiding the moon and blackening the night. Mia was asleep beside me, snoring quietly. Her left leg twitched every once in a while and kicked the back of Jake’s seat. For the most part our Humvee was silent, not counting the few words that passed now and again to cover the awkward tension, the steady pounding of rain on the roof, and the swish-swish of the windshield wipers. We were all starkly aware that our trip was quickly coming to an end. That by itself was working on our nerves. Let alone that we’d just been through a wildly expeditious attack, and before that we’d witnessed a bunch of zombies-that-weren’t-zombies kill a pack of zombies-that-were-definitely-zombies. It was safe to assume our crazy-threshold was being pushed to its limits.

  I sighed and relaxed back against the seat, letting my head roll to the side so I could stare out the small window. The scenery sped past, occasionally highlighted by the Humvee headlights. Everything was overgrown and tangled. From the very edge of the pavement to the tree line, what was once kept trimmed and manicured was now snarled and chest-high. Grass, weeds, shrubs, bushes, everything was exploding with growth since man was no longer around to hold them back. The animal life had been a little less fortunate than the vegetation, ever since the deadheads’ food supply began running low and they’d been forced to “feed” on whatever living thing they could find. Even so, wildlife was thicker than I could ever remember it being.

  Did the virus mutate again?

  Which one will I turn into?

  I found myself coming back to that and replaying key events from the past seven days.

  It’s only been a week?

  Seven days since realizing those who’d been sent to safety were returning as deadheads. Seven days since Waters admitted there might be a something going on that was bigger than us, bigger than we could handle.

  I analyzed each detail in my mind, from our first hint of something amiss to our first glimpse of runners who bled red.

  What am I missing?

  Were these new runners part of the rescued? Those survivors who had been found and then sent to the CC? Were the runners we put down at the club the same kind as the ones we saw during the Great Cow Exodus?

  I was missing something huge; I knew it and felt it in my bones. But what?

  Just as I was in the middle of scolding myself again for obsessing about something over which I had no control, something which none of us had control of was happening two Humvees ahead of me.

  * * *

  “No way. You’re crazy, man. The worst lightsaber duel in Star Wars history has to be the Vader/Kenobi fight. Not the one from Episode Three, the original,” Church argued, emphasizing his point with a few thumps of his hand against the steering wheel.

  Michael sat in the passenger seat, having given up his backseat spot to Waters after the surprise attack. The Captain was getting some rest while Michael and Church argued Star Wars. John was trying to sleep, only to find himself far too amused by the Geek Squad up front to grab some proper shut-eye.

  Michael leaned forward against the seat belt, twisting to look straight at Church, and held his hands out. “What?! That’s a classic!”

  “Yeah. Classic crap. Come on, dude. Seriously? Two old bastards swinging their sabers around like it physically hurt them to move? All stiff and arthritic? You know they were stinking the place up with Ben Gay.”

  By this time neither of them was focused on the road ahead. Church’s eyes steadily glanced in that direction, yet his attention was on Michael and winning the argument. Michael wasn’t glancing at the road at all. He was too busy glaring at Church and trying to explain why the original duel was a classic.

  The rain was coming down harder and a thick fog was starting to settle in.

  The only one paying a shred of attention to the road was John, and his shout came a second too late.

  * * *

  Jonah was driving the middle Humvee when it happened. Rabbit and his colleague, Jonese, were both asleep, and had in fact been asleep for two solid hours. Jonah glanced at Jonese slouched in the passenger seat, drooling down his chin, and looked back at the road just in time to see the front Humvee disappear.

  Just like that.

  One second it was there, the rear lights lit up and piercing the fog between the vehicles, then the next second it was just gone.

  Jonah slammed on the brakes immediately. Rabbit, who hadn’t been wearing his seat restraint, slammed into the back of the driver’s seat, and Jonese was stopped short of hitting the dash by his belt. Jonah cut their shocked exclamations short by jabbing a finger toward the windshield. Three sets of eyes stared ahead in silence.

  The fog had shortened visibility to maybe thirty feet. And thirty feet down the road, the pavement ended. There was nothing but a jagged cut across the asphalt and a white mist.

  “Where the hell’s the Humvee?” Rabbit whispered.

  “Where the hell’s the road?” Jonese whispered back.

  Jonah was already out his door and jerking his rifle over his shoulder. “Come on.”

  He didn’t look back at the last Humvee or at the two soldiers staring out at him from inside his own. His gut was telling him to move, and move fast. His rifle was raised as he jogged along the yellow line, eyes and ears sharp. He smelled gasoline and oil. His mind barely registered the sounds of doors opening and shutting behind him when he stopped at the crevice in the road. Lowering his rifle and pulling a small flashlight from his jacket pocket, he flicked it on and stared down.

  The road had been washed away. How long ago was anybody’s guess. Jonah wondered why the chopper pilot hadn’t reported this. He shined his light first to his left, then to his right, but couldn’t see any farther than a few feet either way. No telling whether there was a creek or small river nearby. It really didn’t matter; whoever survived that drop needed to be rescued.

  * * *

  “How far down is that?” Jake asked, leaning forward.

  “Get the ropes!” Rabbit shouted back to Willis and Jonese.

  I grabbed the back of Jake’s jacket and pulled him away from the edge. The two of us and Rabbit had been standing there shouting down to Michael and the others, but so far there’d been no answer. Mia and Jonah were helping the other two soldiers drag out everything we might be able to use to climb down to the wrecked Humvee.

  How did they not see the washout?

  Flashlight beams jumped and twitched in the fog as everyone hustled. It was dark, raining, cold, and visibility was for shit. Even though Collins had given us the all-clear, we had to assume there were deadheads everywhere. We had no idea how bad the crash had been, no idea how bad the injuries would be. All Jonah could tell us for sure was our speed at the time the front Humvee had suddenly disappeared: forty miles per hour.

  “Looks like about ten feet.” Rabbit was kneeling, his head craned forward, the beam of his flashlight catching the tail
end of the vehicle below. “Yeah, ten-plus feet.” He stood quickly and looked back over his shoulder. “Let’s hustle!”

  Jake turned to me. “This is gonna be bad.”

  He wasn’t the only one doing the math in his head. If we could see the rear of the Humvee, that probably meant the washout wasn’t extremely wide. It also meant that, slamming into the ground at forty miles per hour, the vehicle probably looked like a crushed Coke can, or at least the front end would.

  “Make sure they’re tied off. Two men down, two up top. We need eyes─ Kasey, Jake, you’re on watch,” Rabbit barked as soon as the others joined us with the rope and equipment.

  Jake and I shared a look with Mia and Jonah while the soldiers busted ass getting the ropes secured and in place. I think we were all preparing to find John and Michael dead. It was nearly unbearable.

  The four of us split up; Jake and I stepping away, me on the right side of the road, Jake on the left, and only so far as we could see with our rifles raised. Jonah stepped in to help Rabbit up top since they were the strongest of the four men and could pull the other two up if there was trouble, and Mia left off to the side with no other job than to worry and wait. Gus would be of no particular help to us in this situation, so he was left to wait in the vehicle.

  Willis and Jonese double checked their sidearms and flashlights, turned on their radios, pulled on their gloves, and began the slow climb down.

  Chapter Twelve