The next morning, Laura and Tim stared long into each others’ eyes in the pre-dawn gloom. Laura reached across the sleeping toddler and caressed her husband's cheek.
“We made it,” he whispered to her, unconvinced.
She smiled happily and nuzzled her head into his shoulder, jostling a complaint from the little girl sandwiched between them in the process. The sounds of the camp beyond their site, stirring and awaking to the new day grew louder as the minutes passed. Eventually, the smells of cooking food drifted tantalizingly to their nostrils, drawing Laura out of bed first.
“You get the fire lit and I'll cook us something,” she whispered, gently taking Luna's hand from her chest and tucking it under the warmth of the sleeping bag.
Tim nodded, slipping out of the side of the sleeping bag and crawling out into the gloomy morning. He did his best to hide the wince of agony that the movement caused, not wanting to concern Laura. Within a few minutes, he managed to scrape together a fire using the last of their fire sticks and some reasonably dry tinder from the field to the north.
“Oatmeal again?” Tim asked as Laura rifled through their gear.
“Nope,” she said turning and beaming towards him, holding a tin of powdered eggs and a box of pancake mix.
Tim pumped his fist excitedly. After a few days of strenuous effort, the steady diet of oats and the canned vegetables had worn thin on him.
“Someone left this outside the tent for us,” Laura said quietly as she rummaged around for the water purification tablets.
Tim grew tense at the thought, but relaxed after a moment. In a post-apocalyptic tent-city he doubted that there were many random poisoners lurking about. In the end, he thought it was more likely that someone had seen the kids and taken pity on them. The smell of cooking pancakes and eggs drew Sophie and Will out of the tents a few minutes later. Crawling painfully, Will dragged himself over to a large rock and struggled to prop himself upright on it. The sounds of the rest of the camp around them grew louder as most people were up and moving about at this point. A great many ribbons of smoke drifted lazily into the air, merging seamlessly with the gray skies overhead.
“Whazzat smell, mommy?” Luna asked tiredly, as she crawled out of the open tent flap.
“Cake-cakes and eggs,” Laura called back, using the little girl’s word for pancakes.
“Don't want eggs,” she whined back.
“Okay then, Cake-cakes it is!” Laura announced excitedly as the little girl ducked under her arm and nuzzled into her.
The five feasted in luxury, all of them eating well more than they thought they should have. As Tim was scraping the remnants of the plates into the fire for disposal, a trio of armed men strode over to them. One of the men held a pair of crutches and a cane. Tim rose from the fire to greet them, unnerved by the appearance of weapons. He felt naked without his own guns, a strange thing still, as prior to last autumn he'd only fired a gun a handful of times.
“Gentlemen, sorry we didn't save you any breakfast,” he chirped, doing his best to sound at ease.
“Maybe next time then,” an older gentleman replied with a genuine smile.
One of the other men stepped forwards, holding the crutches and cane out.
“The doctor asked that we run these out to you, said you had some injuries,” a chubby, blotchy-cheeked man in what looked to be his late twenties said.
“Thank you, and the doctor,” Tim said, gratefully accepting the gift.
“If you all decide to leave, we'd appreciate those back. Medical supplies are always in short supply around here.”
“Yeah, we ran into a couple over in Laramie gathering some,” Tim blurted out, without realizing the potential for danger.
“You remember their names?” the older man asked, eyeing them suspiciously.
Suddenly realizing the danger of his loose lips, Tim looked nervously to Laura and Will who responded with the same look he was giving them.
“Peter, I think, Peter and Jane,” Will responded after Tim remained silent.
The older man nodded, satisfied.
“They said a group might roll into camp, if they survived that is.” The younger man clapped his hands excitedly.
“They made it?” Laura asked incredulously.
“Night before last actually, beat you by nearly a full day.”
Tim didn't know how to feel about the news. He had forgotten about them, as the necessities of their own survival took precedence. He had started growing to like them as people locked in the pharmacy together, once the initial fear and mistrust had faded away. He even understood their tactic in running off, and even the sense in abandoning them, but with his wife and child at risk, he couldn't help but harbor hard feelings about it. Will felt similarly towards the duo, Laura was less ambiguous about her feelings and spoke plainly about it.
“Those fucking cowards left us. They left a pregnant girl in labor, a toddler and a little girl to get eaten in the middle of the night. I better not see their faces around here,” she barked.
“Physical violence is a quick way to find yourselves back on the road again,” the older man warned as he scratched the side of his face. “Peter and Jane are decent enough people. From what I'm told your meeting was a chance encounter on the road. You can't really fault them for wanting to survive.”
Laura piped down after the warning, though the angry tears that filled her eyes showed her true emotions.
“How is Christine? The pregnant girl,” Will asked, cutting the conversation off before it could go further off course.
“The doctor has been with her all night, she said it's not looking too good for a natural birth. She said that if labor didn't progress by breakfast time she was going to cut it out.”
*
As Grayson leaned back with his cup of coffee and binoculars, a contented smile came over his face. His years in politics had cultivated a vindictive and spiteful streak in him. The immediate needs of survival through the winter had kept the thoughts at arm's length, but he often went to bed thinking of vengeance on Donner, and Tar in particular. He watched the camp outside Donner over the course of the day, drinking coffee and staring through his binoculars, hoping desperately to spot Tar. The rancher seemed to believe that Tar was dead, having been shot at least once in the gut, but Grayson held his doubts. He knew Tar was a tough old buzzard and with a doctor on hand, hoped the man survived just to see his world crumble the following morning. Pablo moved off in the early afternoon to start making the final preparations to fulfill Grayson's orders for the evening.
Grayson lay awake most of the night, his blood was up and he was buzzing with anticipation. Instead of sleeping, he watched as the moon crossed its way across the sky, riding high above the clouds. Thinking about it, he couldn't remember the last time excitement had kept him up at night, though thoughts of Santa Claus came to mind. He smoked a pipe to occupy his hands, something he very rarely did anymore, and paced about the campsite. A few hours before dawn he finally fell into a fitful sleep. Pablo, who had set all the wheels into motion for the following day, faithfully watched over him. Once he drifted to sleep, Pablo left him under the guard of the three other Trustees at the campsite and moved away to join the men at Mt. Ethel. He needed to make sure everything was still as he had left it, Grayson would not tolerate any failures come morning.
The sky had just begun to lighten to the east and Grayson was up and making his own coffee for a change. His bloodshot eyes still shone with the same excited intensity that had kept him up most of the night previous. Pablo returned as he finished his second cup and awaited any last minute instructions. He stood at the edge of the camp, waiting patiently for Grayson to acknowledge him. Grayson was notoriously prone to anger early in the morning, and Pablo had traveled with him long enough to both work with and around him. He knew, unless summoned, the best course was always to try and go unnoticed until he had completed his morning ritual of three silent cups of coffee.
“Got your perch all set?�
�� Grayson finally spoke, sipping his steaming cup of coffee.
Pablo nodded to the back of the man's head.
“Right. Well, let's get to it then. Once you've set the beast in motion meet me back here.”
Pablo nodded again before moving off down the mountain towards his four-wheeler.
Grayson drank coffee in silence for the next hour, watching as the sky grew lighter. He drained a fifth cup as he waited impatiently for the tip of the beast to emerge on the plain below. Finally, as he was about to radio Pablo, to see what the delay was, a Jeep pulled out onto the plains below. It snaked along, weaving to and fro, staying just ahead of a crowd in pursuit. Grayson sighed in relief and raised the binoculars to his eyes, pleased at the sight. Hundreds of fast undead tore at speed after the vehicle.
He panned the lenses to the Jeep and spotted the flailing forms chained to the rear of the vehicle. Lieutenant Baker and one of his Staff Sergeants were chained to the back bumper of the Jeep, baiting the dead along. Both were still very much alive, though the dragging had obviously taken its toll. Even from this distance, he could see the blotches of blood covering their bodies. Grayson let out an audible gasp as the heaving mass of thousands upon thousands of undead spilled out of the forest and onto the plain below. Of the many gifts that Tyler had given him in the short time they had been acquainted, the knowledge of the vast horde of undead massed near the peak of Mt. Ethel was the most precious.
Within ten minutes, more than fifty thousand undead moved from the foothills across the plain. Baited along by the Jeep, the horde moved towards the west barricade of Donner. As they planned, Andy, the driver of the Jeep, maneuvered the vehicle to keep the fast undead as close as possible to the horde behind. Andy was directed to lead the undead to the bridge over the Illinois River before peeling off in retreat. This would leave the undead within sight of the refugee camp and the town beyond. The purpose of his meandering course was to keep the undead together as one solid force, to utilize the fast undead as shock troops, leaving no time to rally defenses before the main body of undead struck.
Andy was Baker's other Staff Sergeant and did exactly as he was instructed. Dragging the screaming forms of his Lieutenant and fellow Sergeant behind the Jeep, he knew full-well the penalty for failing Grayson. He kept the fast and slow undead within a hundred yards of one another as he meandered his way through the pastures approaching the town. He started to relax as his part in the mission neared its end. The tension of having the enormous mass of undead at his rear while driving towards the heavy weapons set to defend the town began to dissipate as his mind went through his plan to get the Jeep back into the mountains. All he had to do was lay on the gas and make a wide arc, around the flank of the horde of undead. In a matter of minutes he would be back under the cover of forest, headed into the mountains. As the smell of the campfires just a short distance ahead came to him, he started to accelerate, preparing to make his escape. The bullet from Pablo's high powered rifle took him in the back of the head before he could turn the wheel. His body slumped forward and the Jeep continued on its course toward the bridge.
Grayson smiled broadly as he lifted the firing device from the ground next to where he sat with his coffee. His eyes followed the course of the Jeep. The pillbox fashioned out of sandbags piled on the bridge opened fire a moment later, spitting fire as it unleaded into the speeding Jeep. The vehicle veered slightly to the left as it slowed and came to rest with its front end down the small embankment of the waterway. The machine gun in the pillbox continued to fire, as the undead that poured in behind the Jeep came into view of the gunners. The men chained to the rear of the vehicle started flailing about when the vehicle stopped, making one last ditch effort to escape as the fast undead closed in on them. Grayson flipped the toggle cover and breathed deeply, almost ecstatic, as he waited for the moment to trigger the charge that Pablo had set the night previous.
As the first of the screams from the camp drifted up to Grayson, he held his breath and gripped the handle. Flames blossomed into the steely morning sky from the shipping containers. Pablo had managed to set the charges near to where the containers met, in the middle of the road. The containers were lifted and spun away from the force of the blast. Once the smoke cleared and the containers came to a rest, the road into Donner lay wide open. The main body of the undead began filtering across the bridge, closing the last hundred yards moving into the refugee camp. With the shipping containers cleared, there was nothing apparent to stem their movement into the town beyond.
The excitement was coursing through Grayson as the chaos unfolded in the valley below. Most of the men and women who survived the explosion at the barricade fled towards the town proper, a few miles distant. In all, only a handful of defenders remained, blocking the road where the barricade once stood. They were busily pulling together weapons and ammunition as the horde of fast undead poured onto the bridge.
The heavy machine gun tore devastatingly into the undead as the bridge created a choke-point. The pillbox was set on the Donner side, leaving the length of the bridge as a narrow kill-zone. The heavy machine gun mowed dozens of the undead down with each pass across the breadth of the bridge, but the speed and the fury of the fast undead was too much. The heavy gun was great at knocking the undead down, but relied entirely on luck alone for a kill shot. The undead that were maimed by the heavy weapon continued on, crawling and dragging themselves forward, while hundreds more coursed onward at a sprint. The slow undead reached the bridge less than a minute later. Things ended abruptly on the bridge when the heavy weapon paused firing to reload. The undead flowed off the bridge and into the camp.
Grayson gleefully took it all in as the fast undead ravaged through the still-waking camp. The screams of pain, panic, and terror lifted up to his ears and sent gooseflesh down his arms. He watched, giddily, as the undead coursed through the refugee camp. Though he didn't relish in the deaths of innocent people, he knew that any who survived that onslaught would be worthy of adopting into his fold. The horde of undead reached the ruined barricade in a matter of sixty seconds. It was the moment Grayson both dreaded and anticipated. It was the moment of truth for the town's defenses and his excitement mounted. He leaned forward, unzipping and urinating where he stood, unwilling to peel his eyes off the spectacle for even a moment. The next seconds would be the deciding factor on whether the plan would be successful or if the town's defenses would again rebuff his assault.
The great many of the fast undead were either engaged in feasting or running in pursuit of the refugees, most of whom ran in terror. The refugees that fled either retreated through the gap into Donner, or headed across the plains toward the mountains, though a handful jumped into the Illinois River, taking their chances on the currents to carry them away. As thorough as the undead were in massacring the camp, only a small fraction of the massive contingent had stalled to engage in a meal of flesh. Onward towards the town marched and ran a mass of more than fifty thousand undead. Only a handful of defenders remained to block the gap.
*
“Where's Linda?” Tar asked as Betty glided into the candlelit hospital room. “I was kinda hoping that she would be making the rounds.”
Tar didn't notice the disappointed look come across Betty's face.
“A new group showed up at the wall on north 125. Woman in labor. The good doctor is tending to her at the moment.”
“Betty?”
“Yes, Tar?”
“Be a dear and find me a pair of crutches.”
The door closed with a dull thud as Betty stepped back into the hall, without another word. Tar started unwrapping the bandage on his stump as he waited. Linda told him that the wound had healed entirely over the course of the winter. The bandage was simply holding some gauze soaked in vitamin E to help lessen the scar. Tar thought this was silly, he couldn't imagine that anyone cared about scars anymore. Fully unwrapped, Tar examined the remains of his leg for a moment. He could see a number of vicious looking red scars on his lower
leg. The scars disappeared out of sight as the puckered skin tucked inwards at the middle of the stump.
“Here you go Tar,” Betty's voice called out brusquely behind him. “I have to be getting back to reception now. Take care of that leg.”
She leaned the crutches up against the side of the bed before disappearing once again into the hallway.
The effort of moving himself off the bed and into the chair next to it took a great toll and without realizing it, he fell asleep. His next waking thought was looking around the room and out through the window, seeing the deep gloom of night giving way to the pre-dawn haze. It took him the better part of twenty minutes to get himself up and out into the hallway. More than once, he cursed himself for not asking Betty for a wheelchair instead. Though, with the power having been out since late the previous year, he knew he would have had no luck navigating the stairs with it. The shadows created by the hazy, early morning light in the hallway created a depressing gloom. As he turned, moving towards the stairwell, he could see that the sun had begun its ascent. The first sign of the Sun's yellow glow poked up from behind the mountains. It took Tar quite a bit of figuring in order to descend the stairs on crutches. He was lathered in sweat by the time he reached the heavy steel door at the bottom. When he opened the door, he was greeted by the sounds of chaos in the near darkness beyond.
The door at the base of the stairs emptied out in between the reception area and the emergency area. Stepping out, Tar was met by a frenzied scene. Battery powered lanterns illuminated the area as Betty, Nala and a few others rushed about on one task or another. Linda was in one of the triage bays attending to a woman who lay atop a gurney.
“Christine, we are going to have to do a C-section. As much as I'd love for you to try and have the baby naturally, we are entering a time-frame where it will start to get progressively more dangerous to let it continue without intervention.”
A Spring of Sorrow Page 26
