“Can't we stay here? We can live off the food in the cabin for a few weeks at least.”
“Those things were in the house, Am. They might be dead, lord knows Jack and Esme shot their guns enough, but what if they aren't? We have no weapons. Even if we were safe in here, how many of the infected are milling about up at the campsite? You really want to stay here, around that many of them?”
*
Yen didn't hesitate for a second after pulling the trigger. He knew he needed to use the confusion of that moment to his full advantage. He ran headlong to the still-breathing man on the ground in front of the Sheriff's cruiser, and slid on his knees to a stop next to him. He could immediately see that the other man was shot clean through the head. His dull, lifeless eyes were open and fixed on some spot off in the distance, there was no hope for him. Yen turned his attention back to the sound of voices and he fired from his knees at the only two men in sight. One leaned out of the doorway of the workshop and the other was scurrying back around the corner of the house.
He didn't bother to see where his rushed shots ended up, just used the time they bought to drag the wounded man around the passenger side of the Ford Explorer. Gunfire resumed and he dropped to the ground with the man, firing off the rest of the clip from behind the open passenger's door. A few shots peppered the truck and one shattered the window just a few inches above his head. Once he emptied his gun, there was nothing left to do but load the man into the truck and try to get out. Yen flopped the bloody man onto the passenger seat unceremoniously, his legs still trailing out the open door. In a flurry of movement, he clambered over the top of the body and slid into the driver's seat, all the while, the sound of shots thudding and pinging into and off the truck. He braced his hip under the steering wheel and used the leverage to drag the man fully inside.
Yen said a silent thank you to God for the keys that had been left in the ignition with the motor already running. Bullets tore through the windshield so he kept his head down, leaning over the man he dragged in. Sudden recognition set in and he realized that the man was Tar. He yanked the shifter down into reverse and the wheels spun in place atop the icy driveway for the span of a few heartbeats. Finally, he let off the gas just enough for the wheels to find purchase and the cruiser hurtled backwards blindly. Yen waited anxiously a few seconds before he dared sit upright, lifting his eyes just above the dashboard so he could see. He jammed the brakes on and cut the wheel, sending the truck into a barely controlled spin. It skidded easily across the snowy drive and ground to a halt in the rutted snow. He yanked the shifter down two notches, into drive, and started tearing down the driveway at breakneck speed as bullets continued shredding the vehicle.
Things seemed dire for Tar, the man who had brought him into the relative safety of the community. Despite the panic of the gunfight and escape, he had the presence of mind to grab the receiver on the cruiser's radio and was able to get through to a woman at the clinic to let them know of their imminent arrival. Nearly ten minutes later, Yen strode through the doors into the Heartland lobby, carrying Tar's bloody, ashen form. Linda, Betty, and a woman Yen had yet to meet greeted him in the lobby with a gurney and IV ready and waiting. Once his burden was lifted, Yen stood alone in front of reception, covered in another man's blood. The adrenaline was still coursing through his veins and mingling with the anger, surprise and exhilaration of the gunfight. The woman he hadn't met came out of the triage area and approached him. It was then that Yen noticed a hard cast on her arm, covering from her bicep down to her fingers.
“Yen is it? I'm Nala.”
Yen nodded and started pacing, both to bur off some of the nervous energy, but also trying to plot his next course of action. He barely registered the beautiful brown woman standing in front of him.
“Linda said some of the townspeople did this?”
“Fucking Tyler Peterson,” was all the response he could muster.
“Well, I'll be honest with you, Yen,” she said, waiting for him to meet her eyes. “Tar isn't looking too good.”
Yen's face softened at the possibility of Tar's death. He didn't know the man well, but by his own measure, Tar was a good man. Besides that, Tar had given him and his people a chance at a future, something they otherwise didn't have.
“I'll tell you what,” Nala continued. “Let me get my gun and we can see about setting things right.”
Yen looked at the woman and could see a fire burning in her eyes, he knew she wasn't boasting by the intensity in that look. Yen simply nodded in return.
*
“One of the marines they shuffled off onto us told us about their communications with Cheyenne. He said that one of the base grunts was at the end of his watch early one morning. The marine said the operator was section 8, easy. Anyways, he was blubbering by the end of his shift, telling a story about a school bus of kids and teachers from an elementary school that had come to the gates. 'Orders is orders, right?' was all the guy kept saying through his sobs . . .”
The group exchanged nervous glances across the campfire at the foreboding news. They had all assumed that the remains of the government and military would be working toward and planning to liberate and carve out a new world, acre by acre. Instead, it seemed that they were just acting like selfish greedy little men, greedy little men with a lot of weapons. Before any of them could issue any kind of response to the news, Bob, seeing their despair, continued speaking.
“So, yeah, I'd say you are S.O.L. as far as getting in there, but the soldiers they send out to do maintenance on the ventilation system, gather intel, food, VIP transport or whatever the case may be, they aren't readmitted into the base either. 'Security risk' they call it, scared shitless is what I'd guess. Rumor is that some of these soldiers set up at an empty base just outside Salida.” Bob paused and looked at Jen, Laura and Chris appreciatively before continuing, “It's all just rumors, mind you, but I would be very careful about going anywhere out here with the women in tow. But, seeing as you have no real choice in that, it'd probably be best just to avoid Salida altogether. With them in tow and since y'all aren't in the service.”
Bob broke into a long coughing fit at that point, the volume of which made Tim nervous about any undead that might be in the area. He peered intently into the darkness outside the light of the fire, but if anything moved, the noise it made was lost on the breeze rustling through the dead grass and trees.
“But Alcott, a Sergeant over there in the mountain, he was a good man. He was the one that let us in on the fact that we would be turned out once our cargo was delivered. They apparently got no use for us drivers either. Guess they're settled in for the long haul and have no plans to go anywhere, so we are obsolete. Anyhow, I don't know how he got the info, but it was Alcott that told us about the base. He said it was a good place to avoid, if at all possible. He also told us about a town in the mountains, northwest of Denver. They had a couple satellites and a few drones still going early on, said they could see fires burning at night. He said that the place looked pretty isolated, high up in the mountains. They lost imaging ability a few months back, so who knows now. Hank and I talked about it a bit before the fuel line blew. We were going to head up there and see what we could. It was going to be a shot in the dark, but what else could we do? I'd guess if it's still there, you all could try and find it.”
“Northwest you say? How far? How many people are there?” Will blurted out as fast as he could, clutching onto this new hope.
Bob shook his head and threw his hands up.
“Wish I could tell you, son. We were going to be flying blind trying to find it ourselves. Hank and I . . .” Bob trailed off.
“Who is running things over in the mountain? Why are they sending good, healthy people out to die? Don't they know that every life at this point is sacred?” Laura asked with Luna fast asleep on her lap and Sophie's sleeping head resting on her thigh. “Did you tell them how bad things are? What are they going to do?”
Bob could see the woman was on
the verge of tears and shaking. He knew that the news wasn't very hopeful, but figured that lies would serve these people worse than the truth.
“I get it. Believe me, I do, but that's not how the military works. The cogs don't know what the machine does, the good ones don't even ask, they just turn and turn like they are made to do. Rumors and whispers are all we get and most of the time it’s BS anyways.”
Jen moved across to Bob, offering a plate of beans and rice that she hastily prepared over the campfire. Bob held his hand up and shook his head. He held the flask aloft and spoke.
“If y'all have any more whiskey, that would be appreciated. Save the food for the little ones.” His voice was filled with raw emotion. “The nutrients would be wasted on me, anyways.”
The entire camp grew quiet at this statement, even Luna's sick little snores seemed quieter.
“I'm sorry that what I have to say isn't more hopeful. I'm sure you all have had a rough time of it yourselves. Wish I could have offered better than a shot in the dark for you all. You seem like good people and I thank you for staying with me tonight.”
Will came back to the light of the fire from the side of the Yukon with a half-drained bottle of Glenlivet and handed it to Bob without a word. He paced off to the side for a moment, upset and anxious before returning to the rock that he and Jen were sharing. They ate in silence, digesting the tale more than the food. Will and Jen snuggled into one another under the sleeping bag they shared. Tim and Laura quietly discussed the plans for the morning, making sure that Bob couldn't eavesdrop. When Tim finally spoke, he did so hesitantly.
“Bob, thank you for your story. We. . .” He stopped to steady himself.
“I'm alright, Tim, You all sleep in the car. Just leave me with my sidearm and the booze. I reckon the comfort you've given me far outweighs the information I've given you all. There isn't much else I can give other than my gratitude.”
With that, Bob rolled onto his side, facing the fire and pulled the sleeping bag up over his face. Jen spotted the glistening of tears in the firelight in Bob's eyes before his head disappeared into the sack. Jen caught Tim's attention and nodded to the pistol laying on the front passenger side floor of the Yukon. He stared at the weapon for a moment, pondering a heavy question, before he let out an audible sigh of resignation and fetched it. He unloaded it, leaving one shell chambered, before laying it down in front of Bob.
He figured that if Bob was planning to take the easy way out, he wouldn't need more than one round. If he wanted the weapon for protection from the roaming undead, the single shot would rouse them all to rally a defense. If he wanted the gun for more nefarious purposes, which Tim wholly doubted, but wasn't willing to risk his family on, he would only have one round to make count.
*
Once he finished his harsh assessment of their options at this point, Mark moved to the window and sat staring out into the gray skies. Amber stood and walked across the room, doing her best to look like she was extremely interested in the ornamental pitcher and wash basin on the table in the corner. Mark let her sulk, he knew that he was right and couldn't pussy-foot around her feelings about it any longer. The choice was clear to him, and as much as it terrified him, they couldn't stay here any longer. Even if they cleared the cabin and fortified it, what little food that was kept in the house would be gone within days.
The remainder of the communal food was kept in a root cellar that was dug into a hillock a hundred meters to the rear of the house. If they wanted to keep eating they would have to leave the house eventually and if they left the house they were in greater danger. They could either get cornered and be unable to return to the cabin, or they could bring the undead back on them. He knew that if they were going to leave the safety of the cabin to get food, they should just keep going and get to the car and hit the road. The car was stocked with provisions for six. It was the only choice that made sense to him. As safe as this cabin had seemed over the long winter, the attack had shattered that sense of security. Mark didn't even think he would consider staying, even if it were a viable option. There were just too many undead around to risk it. They spent the rest of the day in silence, with Mark giving Amber the opportunity to sort through her feelings and fears about their situation.
They both slept soundly through the night and awoke in the morning suffering from abdominal cramping caused by hunger. The steady grumble of complaint from their stomachs dampened any last minute arguments Amber might have put forth. She pulled her sweater close about her as she stepped out onto the roof of the front porch as Mark held the curtains aside. Once he joined her, they both took a moment to breathe and take a panoramic look at the land around them. The remnants of the bonfire still smoldered weakly atop the plateau, its streamer of black smoke drifted lazily into the sky where it diffused into the cloud cover.
Mark caught brief flashes of movement in the periphery of his vision on numerous occasions, but knew better than to examine it. He knew that if he caught sight of one of the infected he might lose his nerve. He knew that to step back inside the house would be to doom them both to the slow death of starvation. They both breathed a bit easier on the rooftop, now that they were out of the rancid smell of the bedroom. There was only a single infected in sight, a few hundred yards distant. It was twenty paces into the forest on the left side of the plateau. A brief glance showed that it struggled with its foot caught in a wire snare someone had set to catch small game. Aside from that one, and the occasional unnerving flash of movement in the forest, everything appeared calm and clear.
Steadying himself with a series of deep breaths, Mark finally moved to the edge of the porch and looked down. Once he determined that no infected lay in wait beneath him, he swung his body around and lowered himself, feet first, onto the handrail below. He paused long enough to ensure that nothing lurked nearby before beckoning Amber over in order to help her down. His heart raced as they dashed across the open ground, feeling completely exposed. They moved purposefully toward the gore-crusted snow where Jack and his family had died. Their hopes rested almost entirely on the presence of the Tesla key, they had no alternate plan. Mark's heart sank when they neared the spot and he caught the glint of steel reflecting off the barrel of the shotgun. Better than nothing he thought dejectedly as he stooped to pick it up. As the stock of the shotgun lifted clear of the bloody snow, the familiar polished black of the oddly-shaped Tesla key appeared from beneath it, pressed into the pristine white snow.
“Yes!” Mark hissed, a bit too loudly in the silence of the morning.
“Shh!” Amber hissed back reflexively.
They both looked nervously around for a moment before Mark took Amber by the hand and led her to the trail they had driven in on months before that would empty out to route 26. A hundred feet further and they were off the yard and back under the cover of the forest, following the muddy ruts driven into the snowy trail by many feet. The narrow trail, lined on both sides by the forest gave them a fleeting sense of security compared to the open yard they fled from. That security was dashed when the sound of an inhuman roar cut the air from behind them. They both froze and turned to face one-another wide-eyed in fear. The sound of quickened footfalls, crunching through half melted snow came echoed down the tree-lined corridor a moment. Amber slid around behind Mark and he lifted the shotgun to the ready, in his best approximation of how Jack held it.
In the span of five heartbeats, the infected came into sight, its shadowy form drifting through the forest. They watched it tear through the foliage, mesmerized by the speed and fury. It climbed the last short rise towards the rutted driveway and roared anew as it spotted them. What skin remained on its face was blackened and cracked, exposing bone and muscle beneath. Mark aimed as best as he could and fired as the thing ran headlong at them. It weaved through the trees and closed within twenty feet before Mark's tension broke and he pulled the trigger. The butt of the gun cracked hard and painfully into his shoulder and it flew from his grip. He groaned in pain and clutch
ed his shoulder as the weapon flew, hurtling end over end, through the air before coming to rest in the snow some distance behind him.
Mark's senses were overloaded. He struggled to make sense of what had just happened and had to force his attention back onto the infected, he could hear thrashing about behind as he stared at the rifle ten feet down the path. The wounded thing flailed about on the snow, scrambling to right itself. Its one knee had been destroyed by the shotgun blast, severing the lower leg entirely. When it was finally able to right itself, it spun to face the two and lurched toward them. It left its lower leg behind in the snow and fell forward onto its hands and knee. Its mouth gnashed and snapped as it crawled toward them. Its furious speed enabled it to halve the distance in a matter of a few seconds and Mark realized that he was now alone. Amber had already fled further down the path. He paused just long enough to scoop up the shotgun as he too fled towards route 26.
The numerous paths and footfalls on the drive were dangers now that the temperature was on the rise. The late afternoon sun had filled them with melt water which refroze once the sun set. The result at this early hour of the day was a series of patches of ice, rimmed with crusted frozen snow. The two slipped and slid on these patches as they fled, slipping frequently and falling multiple times. It was in pulling himself back to his feet from one of many falls that Mark first spotted the movement of numerous forms shadowing them in the darkened forest. The infected ambled and shambled along, dozens of them on both sides of the trail. The infected moved without taking their milky eyes from the fleeing duo. It only took a moment before the panic set in when Mark realized that they were all moving to intersect with them. His heart sank as the two struggled down the seemingly endless icy path.
“Go, Amber! We have to move faster, now!” Mark urged.
They locked elbows as they ran, hoping to prevent each other from any more falls. With the sheer number of infected encroaching on them, any slip could spell disaster. It was when the infected started staggering onto the path ahead of them and Amber let out a bloodcurdling scream that Mark knew they were in trouble.
A Spring of Sorrow Page 12
