by W. J. Lundy
The nurse nodded as she wrote notes on a clipboard. Once the doctor left the room, she placed the clipboard on a table near the door, then pulled a chair closer to the bed. Knowing that Chelsea was awake, she asked, “Can you hear me?”
The nurse waited for a reply before she continued. “It’s okay, you’re safe now.”
Chelsea crunched her eye lids together and nodded. She spoke in a dry, raspy voice. “Where am I? Is this a hospital?”
“No, this isn’t a hospital. It’s just a clinic. You’re lucky the men brought you back or you’d be dead. You’ll be okay now; the doctor saved you.”
“Saved me?”
“Of course. They found you out there and brought you back. And soon you’ll be on a train to New Philadelphia with the others. You’ve been rescued.”
Feeling the heavy bandages tightly compressed around her body, she tried to raise a hand to her ribs. The nurse took her wrist and gently guided it back to her side. “You need to rest. The doctor said you were close to death when they found you; nearly frozen in that enemy camp.”
Chelsea’s eyes went wide with recognition as she remembered the battle. “Wait… the camp. Is every one okay?”
The nurse smiled and put a hand on Chelsea’s arm. “They were able to rescue many of your people.”
“When can I go back?”
“Why would you want to return? I told you; you’re safe. Soon you will be sent to the city in the north. All of you will.”
“I don’t understand. Who are you? What is this?” she said, her voice growing raspy as the drugs faded and she could feel the squeezing tightness in her chest. The nurse stood and moved away. Retrieving a glass from an end table, she dropped in a straw and urged Chelsea to drink.
“My name is Angie. You’re safe, now. General Carson will make sure all of your people are taken care of. Just rest and you’ll be reunited with them soon.”
There was a knock at the door and a young man entered, holding a small tray of food. The nurse waved a hand toward a small table where the man left the tray. She stood and adjusted Chelsea’s sheet so that it was tucked under her arms, then walked to the door. “I have other patients I need to tend to. After you eat, we can talk again.”
“Wait,” Chelsea said, raising a hand.
The nurse turned back and smiled. “Yes?”
Chelsea struggled to sit up. “Do you know who attacked us?” she asked.
“You poor thing. The doctor said you may have trouble remembering. You were not attacked, dear… you were freed from that awful camp.”
Chapter 13
Free Virginia Territories
Cole and Brad sat together in the observation post overlooking the campsite. The temperatures had again dropped. Snow was falling steadily and over two inches had accumulated in the last three hours. The fire was smoldering, and the wounded man they were watching had managed to free his hands. He was now wrapping his gunshot wounds with cut strips from the dead men’s bedding.
“No Primals yet,” Cole whispered.
Brad nodded. “I was expecting them, too. They’re out there, though; I can feel it.”
Brad had known Cole the longest of any of them; a designated machine gunner on his vehicle in Afghanistan. A place that seemed to be on another planet now, in a different reality. The two of them had come so far and taken different directions getting to this snow-covered hole on a ridge in the Appalachian Mountains. He knew Cole had a family now; he’d seen him with a local girl a time or two and knew they were starting something together. Looking at his friend, he could see an unfamiliar worry in his eyes.
“She’ll be okay,” Brad whispered. “We’ll get them all back.”
The man pulled the SAW into his armpit and looked across at Brad. “I don’t even know that she’s there, Sergeant. She’s a good girl, and I think she would have gotten away. Maybe made it down to Dan Cloud’s cabin. We had a plan for escape, just like we were told to.”
Brad forced a smile. “I bet you’re right. She’s a tough one. Is that old man of hers still giving you a hard time?”
“Hard as woodpecker’s lips. He’s just looking out for his daughter; I can respect that.” Cole raised a hand to his lips then pointed at the campsite. “He’s moving.”
Leaning forward, they could see the wounded man had removed the binding and bandaged his leg. The snow around the campsite was painted in bright red blood everywhere the man had stepped. He was picking over the dead men’s packs and stuffing items into a small knapsack. Brad watched as the man knelt by the fire and attempted to warm his hands over the dying coals. He turned his head and seemed to look directly at them. The man laughed and got to his feet, then turned to move west, leaving the clearing and entering the forest.
“Chief was right; the bastard was lying,” Cole whispered.
Brad turned back and waved a hand to the others positioned in the low ground behind them. Brooks was up moving to the front immediately. Without speaking, Brad pointed out the direction of travel and Brooks swept down the hill without making a sound. Brad stayed in position, allowing Sean and the Ranger to pass before he got to his feet and dropped into the column. He heard the slight swish of movement behind him that he knew was Hassan and Cole finding their security positions in the back. Joey pressed up behind him and they moved out together.
Brad watched as the men ahead of him moved stealthily through the bush. Even the Ranger had skills of movement that Brad hadn’t expected; it was hard to tell if they were the skills of a hunter, or just the things one picks up having survived two years in the apocalypse. They skirted the clearing of the campsite, sticking to cover, and easily found the man’s trail. Even though the wounded man had attempted to bandage his wound, he was still dropping blood. Brooks had to stop them often, holding them back as they waited for the wounded man to rest.
Through the thicker woods of the forest, they merged onto a narrow trail that was marred with tire tracks of—most likely—smaller ATVs. They stayed moving west and down the mountain. At the bottom of a rise, Brooks halted them again and called Brad forward where Sean and the Ranger were kneeling beside the thick trunk of an elm tree. He moved in close and touched his glove to the thick triangle carved in the bark.
“It’s one of ours,” Sean said. “A day or two old at the most.”
“Who left it?” Brad asked.
Sean removed his glove and scratched at his beard. “It’d be one of the troopers; they’re the only ones that use the broad head sign. One of Turner’s crew; only a handful of them were left back at the camp. Someone followed the raiders through here.”
“Bread crumbs,” Joey said, nodding.
“Could be Chelsea… or Shane,” Brad said.
“Could be,” Brooks said, spinning the cap from a plastic canteen. He took a drink and passed it to the man next to him. “Thing is, it looks like our trails are lining up. We’re on the right path.” He took the canteen back from Sean and replaced the cap. “But your boy is gassing out.” Brooks pointed to the blood trail. “I’m surprised he’s gone this far spilling all that Kool-Aid in the snow.”
“How far away is he?” Sean said.
“Less than five hundred.”
Brad took a deep breath, and fought back the anxiousness he was beginning to feel in his legs. Knowing they were getting closer and that his people were in trouble made him want to run. To do whatever it took to get them back. He sighed and forced his body to relax, shrugging to adjust the weight of his pack and rifle.
Sean stroked his beard and dipped his chin. “Stay with him as long as we can. If he falls out, we’ll follow the marked trail.”
Brooks stepped off, moving very slowly and deliberately now, pointing to the broad head symbols. The markings ran along through a depression with high ground on one side. He checked every footfall, moving in and out of the trees, avoiding the leaves. The wounded man struggled ahead; he’d all but stopped his movement. The team bunched up on the trail, following just behind the now belly-crawl
ing man leaving a trail of blood. Given the man’s condition, Brooks could have easily gotten closer unseen, but he chose to stay back.
The point man paused and put his eyes to the sky, focusing on a distant sound. To the west, there was an unmistakable howl. The team froze at the same time as the crawling man. Brooks eyes searched the terrain. He removed his glove and put a hand to the air. After a moment, he turned back to face the team and pointed up the hill. “They smell the blood; the wind is taking it right to them.”
Sean nodded in agreement. “We can hold the high ground.”
The Ranger stepped out of the column and pointed to the wounded man ahead of them. “What about him?”
Sean shook his head. “None of our concern—”
Before Burt could protest, the lone howl turned into a chorus that was growing closer. “Those things are on the run. Get me a defensive perimeter on that hilltop,” Sean ordered.
Cole and Hassan were the first to bound forward, rushing for the high ground. By the time Brad closed in behind them, he could hear the brush to their back snapping as the Primals plowed through it. The low howl turned to screams as the creatures sensed prey. The man on the trail began to yell and plead for help. Sean ignored him, quickly setting up a defense, directing the men into a circle with the majority of the force looking downhill. Brooks lagged back, emplacing the salvaged claymore mines.
After setting the booby-traps, the point man took the hillside with bounding steps and dropped to his knees beside the others. Suddenly, it was very quiet. The howling stopped; the man below quit yelling. Brad had seen this before. The Primals had gotten smarter in the past year. They didn’t always run head first into a storm of bullets the way they had during the fall—not at first anyway. He pulled the rifle to his shoulder and held his breath, searching the trees at the downside of the trial. As he focused, he could hear them moving around in the vegetation. The wounded man heard them too; he grabbed the last of his strength and tried to stand, limping toward the hilltop, before again falling and clawing at the dirt.
A big male stepped from the brush; he was completely nude, his chest and back covered in raised scars, and a heavy head of hair fell below his shoulders.
“They’re here,” Burt whispered.
“More where that came from,” Sean answered. “They’ll be right in those trees, waiting.”
The Alpha Primal moved toward the downed man and stood over him with its head raised, sniffing and licking the air. It looked down at the man, then up the hill toward the dug in soldiers. Its head twitched back toward the trees before it arched its back and howled. More creatures ran from the dark forest and swarmed over the wounded man, his screams hardly breaking through the roar of the mob.
The man’s cries of agony ended with a death rattle. A group of female Primals gathered the body and carried it back into the trees. The big male held its position, its eyes focused on the hilltop. Tucked into the shadow of a fallen poplar tree, Brad froze, trying to stay invisible. The big male took a heavy step to the hilltop; its head again raised sniffing at the air. Other males gathered around it and searched the face of the hill, spotting the broken earth and disturbed snow where the team had scrambled up. The nude male took another step and looked up, staring directly at the team as though trying to make sense of the shapes. Brad knew it was an Alpha Primal—it was the leader of this group—but it had made a fatal flaw, and its reign would end today if it moved any closer.
The creature raised its foot for another step. A click of a rifle’s safety made the creature twitch; its foot fell and the forest floor exploded with the crash of the claymores. With a blast of thunder and flash of heat and light, a swath of forest to the front of the paired mines was vaporized by the 1,400 tiny ball bearings propelled forward. Earth and ice rained down all around them. Brad rose up, looking into the smoke below. Some of the creatures still moved, but most were destroyed and mangled by the blast.
“Move!” Sean ordered, snapping them all to their feet.
“Are there more?” Burt asked.
“I’m not waiting around to find out.”
Brooks rose up and looked over his weapon, pointing into the trees. “There’s more, boss, a lot more.”
Brad stood, straining to see into the darkened forest. Creatures slowly materialized through the smoke, sheltered below in the trees. “Oh shit, we haven’t seen these numbers in months,” he gasped. As his eyes focused, five became ten, and ten became twenty; soon, he could see that the mass stretched far back into the forest. They’d stumbled on the edge of a massive herd.
“The fighting. All the activity is bringing them up the valley,” Hassan said coolly from behind him. The scout stepped closer and drew a machete from his belt and stuck it into the ground, readying it for the attack. “They will come now.”
A single howl quickly turned into a thunderous roar as the forest came alive with screams.
“We should run!” Burt yelled.
“Not today we won’t. Too many to outrun.” Sean shook his head, unsnapping magazine carriers on his vest. He shifted to the side, directing Cole to move his machine gun up. “We hold the high ground. We can do this.”
“Are you serious?” Burt said incredulously, stepping behind the line.
Brooks looked back at him with a grin. “I hope you got your vaccination, cause shit is about to get bitey.”
Brad felt his arms shake from the adrenalin; the creatures were drawing forward for an attack. “Why are they coming? They know we’ll kill them.” He swallowed as he pulled the tomahawk from his pack and stuck it into a nearby tree.
Joey laughed, prepping his own tomahawk. “Cause we killed the Alpha; now they’re too stupid to know any better.”
“When the first of them gets to the trail, open fire,” Sean called from his flank position.
A bark from Brooks’ rifle initiated the charge. All along the slope, the Primals emerged from the tree line, screaming and scrambling forward. Brad leveled his weapon and fired; before his victim could hit the ground, two more had pushed by it. He continued sweeping the front and firing rapidly, the collapsing bodies rolling down the hill and tripping up the others.
Soon the hillside was reduced to blood and mud. The creatures were on all flours clawing at the sludge, fighting to make their way up the slope. Joey stood and crept closer, firing his rifle into the tops of the heads. The Primals mixed in a tangled mess with the dead. Occasionally, a creature would find a foothold and bound forward, only to be rewarded with a gunshot to the face or a hack from Hassan’s machete.
“Cease fire; save your ammo,” Sean ordered when it was apparent the forward momentum of the mob had been lost. The remaining creatures were attacking the slope like a greased pole, some only making it halfway before losing traction and sliding back down. The herd had been reduced to under a hundred. Others on the tree line below were already pulling back, some dragging bodies of the dead with them.
Brad turned his head away as the copper scent of the blood mixed with the waste of the Primals made him wretch. The creatures’ howls from below sent an involuntary shiver up his spine; he stepped back, retrieving his tomahawk from the log as he moved.
“You okay, boss?” Joey asked him.
Removing a canteen from his belt, he drank thirstily and said, “I’m fine. We need to move before they find another way up this ridge.”
Sean agreed and signaled the group to remount their gear and move out, withdrawing in the direction of the broad head markers.
They traveled swiftly and it didn’t take long before they came upon another sign of violence. At the bottom of a gulch, Brooks called them forward where he pointed out evidence of a Primal attack on a large deer. His hand swept over the torn up ground that signaled the high numbers of the crazies involved. Tufts of hair and fur were scattered around a bloody patch of snow.
“And there’s more,” he said, walking toward the high ground.
As Brooks moved passed a Primal body, he pointed to a spent brass
cartridge under the thick brush sheltered from the snowfall. “Someone fought here.” He continued on the trail, pointing out more of the dead before stopping at the remains of a man, a blood-stained body with a cut across its back and a fighting knife buried deep into the torso.
Sean stood over it and looked left and right. “Anything else?”
“A couple things,” Brooks said in a hushed tone. “The broad heads stop here. This is where our guide made his stand.”
Hassan moved to the bloodied body and rolled it over. He reached down and pulled the knife out to examine it. “This is no hunter’s knife.”
Sean pursed his lips and spit in agreement. “Then who left the marks? Where is he?”
Brooks paced farther up and rubbed the back of his head, kneeling down he used his glove to sweep fresh snow from the trail. “Whoever it was, he was carried out of here… and on horseback. He went that way,” He pointed away from the direction they were traveling in. “One rider with two horses. From the depth of these boot prints, I’d say our friend was carried out.”
“Dead?” Sean asked.
Brooks shrugged. “No way of telling, but why haul off a dead man?” Brooks knelt and let his gloved finger rub the edge of the hoof print. “Why take a wounded man, for that matter?”
A distant howl turned their heads to the back trail. “No time to worry about it,” Sean said. “Keep moving the way the broad heads indicated. Our mission stays the same; I want to find the bastards that attacked us.”
Chapter 14
Crabtree, West Virginia
Free Virginia Territories
Crabtree wasn’t much of a town, or a settlement. It lay stretched out between a small creek and a railroad bed. Two main roads ran through it and intersected near a long, flat building with a square overhang that could easily be recognized as a gas station. With the community now fortified and the roads blocked off, it wasn’t much more than a cluster of buildings surrounded by an earth and timber wall.
