He considered his M-1 Carbine for a moment but decided to leave it hanging from the hook where he’d left it. If it came to it, the pistol and knife should be enough, even if the noise they’d made leaving the subdivision had attracted more biters.
Be less intimidating without it, he judged. Don’t want to spook the kid.
Satisfied with his load-out, Charlie shouldered the backpack and stepped out of the cabin. They’d built it on the southern half of the western wall for the proximity to the storage bins, so it was a short walk from his home to the bins.
Jim Piper’s office was on the first floor of the refrigerated bin. The wiring for the cooling equipment provided power to run a few laptops and a printer to keep everything organized. At some point, it was going to become impossible to find ink, never mind printers, and they’d have to figure out something else to produce the paperwork that ran the administrative side of the community. It wasn’t a huge concern for Charlie. He knew for a fact that Jim had at least a half-dozen printers in their original packaging just waiting for use. Charlie himself had hidden several of them inside one of the office supply stores in Lewisville. The toilet paper and paper towels were long gone, but there were still plenty of electronics.
He stepped inside and looked around. Dantzler, one of the wall guards, was in quiet conversation with one of Piper’s assistants, Foster. It looked a bit heated, so he chose not to interrupt and looked around the office area on his own. It was a simple layout. Banker’s boxes full of paper sat in piles here and there, with folding tables supporting other paperwork or computers. After a quick survey, he saw Jim. He leaned over a stack of filing boxes piled underneath the staircase to the second floor. The look on his face was so intense that the file he sought might have contained a map to buried treasure.
Charlie stepped over beside Jim and waited a moment. When the other man failed to notice his presence, he cleared his throat. Jim jumped and looked over his shoulder. “Shit, Charlie, you a freaking ninja, or what?”
Charlie just shrugged.
“What can I do for you?”
“Need to make a run,” Charlie said. “Quick, few hours.”
Jim grimaced. “Ah, I don’t know if I can swing that right now. Did you go to the town meeting yesterday?”
Silent, Charlie shook his head and cocked an eyebrow.
“After that Marine got done speaking, Norma proposed a motion that we keep everyone inside for the time being until Miles gets back.”
He frowned. “Gets back from where?”
“I don’t know, it’s all hush hush. He lit out this morning in the tank. The tank and the soldiers should be back later on this afternoon, but Miles may be gone for a few days they said. We voted, and we’re keeping things close to the vest for the next few days.”
Damn it, Charlie said to himself. He didn’t know what bug had gotten up Norma’s butt, but she wasn’t exactly the type you could talk out of a decision, even if Charlie had glib verbal skills. Should have gotten up earlier. Maybe Miles had gotten occupied with other things, or maybe he’d thought Charlie had forgotten about him. On the bright side, if the Marines weren’t around, he didn’t have to keep under cover, he could actually get out and about.
“Fine,” he said finally. “Later?”
Jim nodded. “I can swing it once Miles is back. The military is going to start trading fuel for food, so we might be able to free up more frequent runs. Know anywhere where you can find some ballpoint pens? We’re running low.”
Charlie did, as a matter of fact, but there was no benefit to coming out and telling Jim that. Something was only as valuable as it was scarce. “Maybe,” he said. “Get quick solo, might have for you.”
Jim gave him a sour look and shook his head. “Fair enough,” he said. “I’d be plenty willing to let you have a set of keys for a bit if not for Norma’s proposal. You don’t have to rake me over the coals to pay for them.”
Charlie shrugged. “Welcome to get yourself.” He liked Jim, the man was affable, but to Charlie there were two sorts of people in this world — those who were willing to go outside of the wall, and those who weren’t. As far as he knew, the last time Jim had been outside was when Larry had brought him home like a lost puppy. And he wasn’t in the mood to take crap from someone who lived in relative comfort on the efforts of braver men.
Jim glowered over the top of his reading glasses. “You don’t have to be such an asshole about it.”
“Asshole with pens,” Charlie pointed out. “Later.”
He adjusted the pack on his shoulder and walked out. It looked like he’d geared up for nothing. He sighed and looked at the clear, blue sky. All in all, it was looking to be a fine day. His stomach gurgled and reminded him that he hadn’t eaten since the day before. He turned and headed for the cafeteria. Maybe the day’s luck would change, and there’d still be some food left.
Chapter 20
He’d slept over bumps and shakes, and even managed to hang onto a fitful sleep as the LAV climbed in and out of a creek bed or two, but when it came to a halt, Miles woke.
The three SEALs were already in motion, up and out of their seats and moving to the rear hatch. Up front, Hanratty leaned around and shouted to the other men. “Coast is clear, and dust off will be here at 0900. Good hunting, boys.”
Ross gave him a thumbs up and slapped Miles on the back as he walked past. “Time to earn the paycheck, champ,” the officer said with a wink as he hopped out of the LAV’s rear hatch.
Miles gathered up his backpack and rifle and followed, trying not to trip and fall as he arranged his gear on the fly. Down on the ground, he took a moment to sling both straps of the pack on, then clipped the locking disconnect on the single-point sling to his rifle. Behind them, the LAV accelerated away. He assumed they’d loop around a bit further down the road. This tended to draw any roamers past the drop-off point, so long as those dropped off kept quiet as they went about their business. They’d used similar methods in the past when scavenging locations that they knew would take time to go through.
Miles shifted his focus away from the LAV and to his environment. There were no landmarks in sight; he could have been standing on any standard-issue Midwestern country road. There was a large field off to one side, spotted here and there with trees. It had lain fallow for so long that the weeds had taken over. Freed from the winter snows, they stood waist-high and waved languidly in the breeze. Shifting his grip on his rifle, Miles pivoted and continued to scan his surroundings. Yeah, he had three of the best the military had to offer with him, but that didn’t mean he was going to take it as an excuse to play dumb. A decaying farm sat across from the field. A couple of the barns had already collapsed and another looked close. The old farmhouse still stood strong, but the paint was peeling from the clapboard siding. None of the ground floor windows remained intact. Much of the yard in front of the farmhouse was gravel, but there were also a few patches of tall weeds present. He studied them for a moment, then pivoted again. At the moment, the field was the greatest danger. Both ends of the road were as clear as far as he could see, and there were enough open lanes in the front of the farmhouse that he’d either see company coming or hear them stumble over the gravel.
To one side, Ross glanced at him as he began sharing hand signals with the other SEALs. “Stay close,” the lieutenant murmured. Miles nodded but didn’t take his eyes off of the field.
“How clear is this?” Miles said in a low tone. He glanced over at Ross, who shrugged.
“We holed up here a little over a week ago, I guess. Clear-ish. But not so clear that I want to stick around out here talking about it if you know what I mean.”
Miles nodded. “Don’t like the weeds — crawlers,” he said.
Ross nodded, his face somber. “Thought about burning them off when we left but we didn’t want to draw attention to this place. No worries. The phone and electrical service are underground, so the chopper can land right on the road.” He put a hand on Miles’ shoulder and gave
him a gentle shove in the direction of the house. “Go, I’ve got rear guard. Stay behind Foraker and Janacek.”
Keeping his rifle at the low ready, Miles stepped onto the gravel and followed the other two SEALs. Each man would lead in turn, kneeling or pausing behind cover, and then wave the other man forward. At each interval, they’d pause for a few moments and scan the area around them. As he came up behind them, Miles noted a few crumpled forms in the weeds. The accelerated decay that came on after the second death had rendered them little more than bones and leathery skin. He could tell from the way they had crushed the weeds down, rather than being overgrown by them, that they’d not been here long. If these had been here the first time the SEALs visited, it stood to reason more might show up. He licked his lips.
Janacek bounded forward, but rather than stepping up onto the front porch, he followed his way around it to the side of the house. After a moment, Foraker followed, and Miles heard a subtle, “Come on,” from one of the two after the older SEAL reached Janacek’s position. He mimicked their motion and came around to the side of the house.
The two men were arranging an extension ladder under an open second-floor window. The growth near the foundation was flat, matted by the pressure of the ladder. Miles nodded in approval. They’d stashed the ladder where they could easily get to it, and if someone moved it they would be able to tell. Finally, with a light thump, they arranged the ladder to their liking. Janacek slung his rifle over his back and scrambled up the steps. He glanced inside of the window for thirty seconds or so, then reached out and lifted the sash so he could climb inside.
“You next,” Foraker said to Miles. He gave the big man a thumbs up. It took him a bit more time to arrange his rifle since the sling was under the straps of his backpack, but once he set it so it wouldn’t run into the ladder, he followed the first SEAL up and inside of the old farmhouse.
The gable window opened up into a bedroom that had likely belonged to a teenage boy before Z-Day. Superhero and comic book posters plastered the walls along with pennants for sports teams. Everything had a sun-faded and worn look, and the room smelled of dust. The twin-sized bed, for some reason, had no mattress.
He cleared out of the way as Foraker followed him up the ladder and inside. Shortly thereafter, Ross brought up the rear. Once he reached the top, he reached down and took hold of the sides of the ladder. With a grunt, the SEAL lifted the ladder off of the ground and inside of the window. When he levered it on the bottom of the window sill it made a harsh grinding sound, but Janacek and Foraker stepped forward and supported the sides as Ross backed further into the room. As soon as the collapsing locks were inside the window, the SEALs on the sides of the ladder opened them up and slid the extension back into place. As they did that, the feet of the ladder just cleared the window before Ross backed into the wall opposite the window. The men set the ladder down, and Foraker closed the sash with a grunt.
“Let’s go,” Ross said to Miles. “We’ll crash in one of the other rooms.”
He led Miles into a short hallway that overlooked the ground floor of the farmhouse. As they came around, Miles looked down. He made a surprised grunt as he saw the stairs — or what remained of them.
Some survivor had removed the bottom half of the stair treads. This left only the stringers, which were climbable if one were careful. At the point where the steps ended, the survivor had constructed a vertical wall that ran to the ceiling of the second floor. Angled four by fours descended from the top corners of the barricade and anchored to the top of the staircase for support. Even if someone were able to climb to the uppermost exposed stringer, the wall blocked off any access to the second floor. It would take dexterity beyond zombies as well as most humans.
“Damn nice work,” he commented and glanced up at Ross. “You guys?”
The lieutenant shook his head. “This is the way we found it. One of the reasons we holed up here. All the broken windows expose the first floor, but we checked it out on the chance of finding some supplies. You never know. Saw the modifications to the staircase and figured, why not?”
Miles ran his fingers over the wood. The two-by-fours used in the construction of the wall had been mechanically sawed. The nails holding everything together had the tool marks of a framing nailer. This was either put together before the power grid failed, or the builders had possessed some form of electricity to run their tools. He glanced up at Ross. “No survivors?”
The SEAL shrugged. “Feel free to look around; the place even feels abandoned. The downstairs is a wreck. Upstairs, not so much. It’s weird.”
Miles followed the lieutenant into a room at the opposite end of the hallway from where they’d entered the second floor. Given the size, this looked to be the master. It took up what appeared to be a full quarter of the upper story and had an en-suite bathroom. The SEALs had pushed all the furniture over to one side and placed several mattresses on the floor. The ones from the other bedrooms, he reasoned. A heavy quilt hung from the wall, pinned in place in front of a window by a pair of nails.
Janacek and Foraker were already dropping their packs onto respective mattresses. Miles chose one for himself that wasn’t claimed and set his own bag down. Free of that, he divested himself of the single-point sling and lay his rifle on the mattress next to the pack.
Ross spoke from the other side of the room as he fiddled with a radio. “You know the drill, people. Keep it quiet, keep it dark. Janacek, you’ve got first watch. I’ll take mid-watch, and Foraker is after me.” He glanced over at Miles. “You good, Mr. Matthews?”
Miles stepped aside to let Janacek leave the room. “All set. Might take a look around.”
Ross waved a hand, intent on tuning his communication device. “Knock yourself out. I assume I’m not telling you anything when I say be quiet?”
“This isn’t my first salvage run,” Miles replied. He leaned over and released the Surefire from the side of his rifle. The interior of the house wasn’t too dim in the second-floor hallway due to the windows below, but the rooms were all pitch black save for the room through which they’d entered the house. He nodded to Ross and Foraker, but neither man seemed to notice his presence. The lieutenant whispered into the mouthpiece of the radio while looking at a folded map. The big Chief was lying down on his mattress with his head resting on a folded-up poncho liner. He’d left enough of the liner unfolded to flip the flap over his head to cover his eyes.
He’d seen the rooms at either end of the hall, but there were several other doors he wanted to check. Miles was confident the SEALs had cleared them their last time in here. If any zombies had somehow climbed up and hidden in the interim, the noise of their presence would have alerted them to the house guests. Vir’s experience in the warehouse, notwithstanding, he felt pretty confident that nothing had scaled that staircase barricade.
Miles was curious for a few reasons — first because you never ignored the opportunity to scrounge these days. Perhaps just as important, he was curious about the fate of the people who’d lived here. Had they abandoned the house for some reason? There was no blood or evidence of foul play anywhere that he’d seen, so where were they?
The former owners had decorated the room closest to the master in pink and yellow. Stuffed animals lined shelves along with picture books. The four-poster bed, like the other bedrooms, lacked only its mattress. Other than a few knick-knacks that would have appealed to a preteen girl, there was little of interest in the bedroom. A light patina of dust covered everything. He studied the stuffed animals for a moment and considered grabbing one for Trina, but refrained. It just felt wrong — salvage should be about need, though he would readily admit that not everyone shared that position with him.
The second door opened up into a family room. Bookshelves lined the side walls, and a large flat-screen TV sat on the wall opposite the entry. A leather couch divided the room between the door and television. This room felt even more unused than the previous bedroom — the bookshelves contained photo albums,
Blu-rays, and video games. There was a definite lack of actual books, and without power, the television, disk player, and game console were worthless.
He panned his flashlight around and studied the movie and game collection, but nothing jumped out at him that they didn’t already have. Miles smiled. During their ill-fated run to Target, his friend Sticks had gone through the electronics section with dogged determination. He ensured that he procured at least two copies of almost every disk in the store. When Miles questioned him, Sticks had responded, “The people of the future are going to need Friends and Seinfeld, Miles. I’m relegating Gossip Girl to the dustbin of history, though. Nobody needs that crap.”
Damn, I miss you, buddy.
The collection had only grown in the years since. And yes, there had been plenty a night when the community sat together to watch a slice of what they’d once had. To remember, to laugh, and maybe even to cry a little bit.
He closed the door behind him and checked the last door. This room looked to be a small laundry room. A stackable washer and dryer set, sorting hampers for whites and darks, and a folding table took up one side of the room. Shelves lined the other walls, though they weren’t as dusty as the rest of the house, despite being empty. He panned the flashlight around and noted an object back in the corner of a bottom shelf. Miles knelt and fished it out. It was a dented can of Vienna sausages, and he grimaced. This room, presumably, had served as a pantry. Whoever cleaned it out had missed this one can. Or just didn’t care for the nasty things.
He stood, and was ready to leave the room until he panned the flashlight across the ceiling. In the center of the ceiling was a rectangular piece of wood, painted white to match the ceiling and framed in mitered trim. A hole at one end of the rectangle supported a short string with a plastic ball on the end. It was an attic hatch, Miles realized, and he frowned. Had the SEALs missed this? He supposed anything was possible. They were likely more attuned to fighting the dead, which didn’t use human tactics of hiding and high ground. Maybe the family cowered up there now, worried about the visitors that had returned to their home. He reached up to grasp the plastic ball.
A Place Outside The Wild Page 27
