by W. J. Lundy
“Why we going on alone?” Gunner asked as he yawned.
“Skipper doesn’t want to risk the boat. Too many unknowns close to shore. Don’t worry, Yank, he’ll have us on radar and we can call for support if you get scared.”
Parker looked back at Kelli. “They’re stopping, ma’am,” he said, pointing ahead at the submarine. Bright lights had been illuminated, casting a white hue through the fog and making the submarine appear to glow.
“Bring us up around their port side and keep us a hundred meters off… if that is acceptable Chief?” Kelli said, looking to Richardson for confirmation.
“Make it happen. Gunner can you join me on the dive deck? I’ll let the team know we’re ready for them to come aboard,” Richardson said, moving back to the hatch. He un-dogged the latch and exited, followed by his men.
Gunner exhaled a long sigh while he got to his feet and followed. As he stepped through the hatch, he stopped and looked back at Brad. “Well… get off your asses, it’s time to earn your pay.”
“What fucking pay?” Joey asked.
Brad laughed. “It’s a figure of speech, hero; come on let’s go.”
Brad moved out of the bridge, following the others down the ladder. When he reached the bottom, he saw that Nelson and Chelsea had already been called on and were standing with the others on the dive deck.
“Here they come!” Nelson shouted.
Brad jumped to the deck and moved around to the far rail. In the distance, he could see two inflatables cutting through the still water in their direction. It didn’t take long for them to move up alongside. The first boat held Sean and the others. When the raft pulled up, they were quickly welcomed aboard. Then the second raft moved in and several large nylon bags were passed over the rail and stacked in the center of the deck.
Nelson carried one of the heavy bags across the deck and let it drop next to the others. “Shit’s heavy, what’s in them?” he asked.
“Food and ammo,” Sean answered, moving across the deck to shake Gunner’s hand.
Howard separated himself from the others and moved toward the bulkhead. He stood silently, holding a heavy leather satchel. Brad watched him as he nervously held the bag close to his chest. Meyers moved close to the doctor and stood next to him before speaking.
“Well, gentleman, it’s up to us now. You will find gear and ammo in the bags. You are welcome to split up everything… except that black bag. That’s my gear, so keep out of it. You can split that up when I’m dead,” he shouted before turning to Richardson. “Chief, can you tell them we are ready to proceed to the harbor, and let’s open this tub up a bit—I’m in a hurry to get this started.”
“Aye, sir,” Richardson sounded off, then turned and nodded to one of the British sailors who quickly turned to climb the ladder.
CHAPTER 13
Shane prepared all of the food he could. He filled his own stomach on the canned vegetables—eating cooked beans, tomatoes and carrots—while he encouraged the girl to eat all of the cereal. He knew it was important to get their calories when they could. Shane made pancakes with the cornbread and let them cook a little longer then they needed, trying to dry them out so that they would travel without spoiling. He found some Ziploc bags in the kitchen and packaged as much food as he could.
He retrieved their bags from upstairs and began rearranging and packing their gear. He removed all of their water bottles; most were empty but what water was left he poured into a tall glass that he told Ella to drink. The farmhouse had a well but would require electricity to run. He looked out of the back door to the river. He hated the thought of drinking the murky water, but here he could at least boil it on the stove.
Shane took all the empty bottles from his bag and lined them up on the counter. He found a small recyclable grocery bag in a cupboard and loaded all of the bottles in it. He pulled the small Walther pistol from his cargo pocket, then reached in and found the magazine. He pushed against the rounds and felt stiff resistance. The magazine only took two rounds from the box to top it off. He slid the magazine home and chambered a round.
The girl was still sitting at the kitchen table, babbling to herself and using a grease marker to draw on the wood surface. “Ella, I’m going to walk down to the dock and get water,” he said.
“No, Shane, I don’t want you to go,” she pouted.
“It’s okay; I’ll only be gone a few minutes. You’ll be okay in here.” She agreed, but Shane saw the worry on her face as he took the bottle bag from the counter and slung his rifle.
He showed her how to work the lock on the kitchen door, and then he watched her work the lever with her tiny fingers several times to make sure she could. It was barely 10am, and he was confident he wouldn’t see any of them this time of day, but he still wouldn’t leave them an open door. He rubbed her head, brushed the hair from her eyes, and told her to just sit quietly. Shane turned the lever on the knob, then stepped onto the porch; closing the door behind him and feeling the latch catch. He heard the clunk of the bolt as Ella worked the lever. He checked to make sure it locked and then moved toward the steps.
Shane stepped onto the stone path that led to the river. The grass on both sides of the path was tall and overgrown. He knelt down and looked in both directions; he could just make out the muddy trail that ran parallel to the river. If they were out there, that’s where they would come from. After sitting still for several minutes, he was confident he was alone and not being watched. Shane got back to his feet and hastily moved in the direction of the dock.
The dock was made up of aluminum planking and sat just above the level of the water. Branches and logs had piled up against it on one side, but the pylons still held it securely in place. Shane stepped onto the dock just far enough so that he could reach the water. He tied all of the bottles to a string and lowered them in one at a time, letting them fill and sink below the water’s surface. He quickly pulled the rope and retrieved bottles after the bubbles stopped.
Shane turned and surveyed the area again to make sure nothing had moved in behind him. The way was clear, so he stepped off and started moving back to the house. He stopped when he crossed the trail—there were footprints in the mud. They were fresh, so they must have been from the things he observed the night before. Two of the infected were barefoot, but the third had a track Shane recognized. It was the boot with a four-pronged heel; the same track he’d spotted when he initially left the river.
Curious now, Shane followed the track a short distance before he saw that it separated from the others and moved toward the house before disappearing onto the stone path. So, it was the one that went to the door, he thought to himself. Did the thing track us back to the house… all the way from the river bank? Or was it coincidence? We traveled from the road the night before, so it couldn’t have tracked us from the trail, but why did it stop at the house? If it came back tonight, it may try to enter the place. Shane was planning to hold up there for a few days while they rested, but now, with one this close and possibly tracking him, he couldn’t risk it.
He looked around again in all directions, then rushed to the house. On the porch, he tapped at the door the way he’d discussed with Ella and the girl quickly opened it. Shane closed the door behind him and turned the lever to lock it. Not wasting time, he moved back to the counter and dumped the bag of bottles. He dug through a deep drawer and pulled out a large pot and placed it on the stove. Quickly, he poured the contents of all of the bottles into the pot and then put in the bottles themselves. After he turned on the heat, he quickly searched the rest of the house.
Shane didn’t know where he was, or where he was going, and he needed to find out. He walked back into the living room and found a stack of old newspapers and mail. He unfolded the paper; it was a local county ledger of sorts. Dated late July, only a week or so into the fall, if he remembered correctly. This part of the country held up pretty well for the first few weeks. The southwest fell first as the infected crossed in from Mexico and up through
California. Then it spread up and in through the heartland. Eventually, the Northeast was infected as the virus raged over the border from Canada and down the east coast. The paper was absent of any real news. There were only the warnings to remain indoors and some vague stories of rioting in Arizona.
The paper said Charleston County; the address on the mail read Summerton. The barge captain had said they were moving south to the sea and a survivor’s camp near there. Shane found an old desk, dug through the drawers, and was rewarded with a worn state roadmap. He unfolded it and scanned its surface. On the back was a location guide. It wasn’t precise enough to navigate, but he could use it to get his bearings. He tried comparing the address on the mail to the map. He couldn’t pinpoint his location but could see the river on the map, and he traced it down to where it met the harbor. Moving his finger along the city outlines, he could see the greater limits of what was identified as Summerton, but it was on the wrong side of the river.
From the map, he guessed he was north of the international airport and somewhere on the west bank of the river. He knew they had traveled mostly through wooded areas, no big cities, and very few large bridges, so he must be just outside of the city. Still, where could he go? He couldn’t travel the river south since the captain would surely be looking for him and would have put out the word about the girl. He couldn’t go due west; Atlanta would be packed with infected. He knew from early reports at the armory that Fort Jackson was gone and abandoned, so the North was out. Then he remembered the stories about Hunter Army Airfield in Savannah.
After Washington D.C. was lost, many units broke up and fortified themselves in smaller bases. One of those units was the Ranger regiment headquartered at Savannah. Shane heard stories about the Rangers at Hunter Airfield having held off wave after wave of the infected. They even ran convoy operations out of the area, helping rescue survivors. Because the airfields were fortified and well-defended, the government was able to make relief flights to them.
That was at the beginning, though, when aviation fuel was still readily available. Would the Rangers still be there? Shane pondered to himself. They should be; up until a few days ago even Fort Collins was still there, surely the Rangers would be. He looked at the map and used a sheet of paper to guess the scale. It had to be at least a hundred miles over swamp and rough terrain if he traveled directly. We don’t have any other choice, he thought.
“Yes, I’ll get her to Savannah; it’s her only chance,” Shane whispered.
Shane folded the map and stuck it in a chest pocket of his uniform top. He surveyed the room one last time, looking for anything that would be useful. He checked his wristwatch; it was approaching noon so they would have to move soon. He rushed back to the kitchen where the water was boiling heavily. He turned off the stove and used kitchen tongs to remove the soft plastic bottles. The boiling deformed them, but they were now sterile and would still hold water.
Ella watched him curiously as he packed his rucksack with the bags of food while he allowed the water to cool.
“Are we leaving, Shane?” she asked, dropping the grease marker she’d been using to draw on the kitchen table.
“I’m afraid so, Ella. I don’t think it’s safe here.”
“Where are we going?”
“I know a place; we can find friends there,” Shane said, hoping is words were true.
“Will my momma be there?” she asked.
He frowned. Since the day Shane found the girl at the armory clinic, she’d occasionally asked about her mother. When he found her, Shane didn’t waste time trying to recover information about her. His priority was getting her dressed and away from the area. He’d seen the bandaged wound on her arm and knew she would probably turn, but he didn’t have it in him to leave her behind—besides maybe it was just a cut, he’d told himself. In that first day, she didn’t speak. She had hung onto his neck and when he looked down at her she would stare back with hollow eyes. Shane figured she was heavily sedated or most likely in shock.
He’d managed to carry her away from the armory and down a long road, back into a neighborhood he was familiar with. They made it to an old auto shop and hid in it as the sun was setting, sleeping in the back of an old SUV that was up on a lift. The girl never spoke; all through the night she just stared at him with those sad, empty eyes. When morning came, he asked her if she was thirsty. In response, she asked him for her mother. Even now, he still didn’t know what to tell her.
“Maybe, but we have a long way to go, so we need to hurry,” he said as he moved back to the stove and prepared to fill the bottles.
“But I like it here,” she whined.
“We’ll find another place, Ella.”
CHAPTER 14
As the Coast Guard ship navigated near Charleston, they spotted the island fort at the mouth of the harbor. There were no flags flying at the top of its pole, but there were obvious signs of life. White smoke billowed up over the walls from numerous fires. They could see a number of riverboats and other fishing type vessels moored together near the fort’s ferry landing. Through binoculars, they could see people moving back and forth high on the walls and across the fort grounds.
Brad was standing on the bow with the others. Sean had his binoculars out, looking intently at the fort while Brooks was using a spotting scope to observe the far coast line.
“Beach looks empty,” Brooks said, scanning left to right over the mainland shore.
“Aye, this time of day it’d be expected, but they’ll show themselves in the evening. They always do,” Meyers chirped back.
Sean lowered his binoculars and stepped away from the rail. “Your call, Meyers. They haven’t answered the radio. You want us to roll up to the front door and pull into the driveway, or take the small boat and scout ahead?”
Meyers grinned. “Show of force, as you Yanks say; let’s roll up in the big ship. Let them see our flags and weapons.”
Sean forced a smile and stared at the fort’s wall one more time. “Okay. Brad, get out front with Parker and Joey; have your rifles at the low ready. Chelsea, you’re with me and Nelson on the dive deck. Brooks, find a hiding spot and get behind that rifle,” Sean ordered.
Brad turned to face Sean. In a low voice, he asked, “Are we expecting trouble, Chief?”
“I don’t know who’s out there; we just need them to know that we aren’t to be fucked with,” Sean answered as he walked away, headed to the dive deck.
Brad unslung his rifle and checked the action; it was ready to go. He looked to his right and saw Joey and Parker making the same preparations. “Okay, fellas, let’s soldier up. I expect there to be lots of armed men down there, so let’s not go starting a gun fight on our first day back,” Brad said.
“Roger that,” Joey responded.
Kelli eased up on the throttle, slowing the boat to a crawl. People at the fort began to take notice. Men ran out to the dock and Brad saw them pointing excitedly. More people began crowding the tower walls as word spread of visitors. There was a long, T-shaped pier north of the fort and Kelli seemed to be maneuvering in that direction. Brad looked up and down the pier—every portion of it was occupied by some type of vessel.
They came around, steering a wide path and keeping their distance on the flotilla of boats. Kelli steered them around the pier, sticking to the deep water, then cut in slightly before cutting the engines and ordering that the anchors be dropped. With the engines silenced, they could hear the voices of shouting men being carried over the water. Brad looked intently at the dock that was only a couple hundred meters away now. He could see civilians and others dressed in bits of military uniforms.
He let his eyes drift west and to the south part of the fort. There looked to be a long sandbar connecting the fort to the mainland. Water ran over portions of it. In other spots, heavy rolls of razor wire and other barriers had been piled up to form a heavy perimeter through the shallows. Brad could identify bits of fabric in the wire and was sure that if he inspected them through his rifl
e’s optics, he would find that they were Primal bodies.
“We got a boat approaching,” Brad heard Nelson yell from the lower deck.
Brad turned to face back north and saw a small civilian--style cabin cruiser had started moving in their direction. Three men in uniform stood behind a small windshield. Brad ordered Joey to move to the other side of the boat and keep his eyes on the approaching craft. When it got to within a hundred feet, Gunner used the ship’s horn to halt the boat. The man driving the smaller craft cut the engine and they slowly drifted in the water.
One of the men climbed up on the bow of the boat and waved a white flag. He was close enough that Brad could clearly see him now. Although he was dressed in Marine Corps digital camouflage, the man’s face was heavily bearded. One of the two men behind the windscreen was also dressed as a Marine, while the third wore the digital blue camouflage of a Navy uniform.
The hatch of the bridge opened and Gunner walked out, stopping at the rail between Brad and Joey. He gripped the rail with both hands and yelled to the men in the boat. ”Good morning, we are with the United States Military. Who is in command of the fort?”
The men on the small boat looked at each other, then the man on the bow tossed the white flag down. They seemed to be talking amongst themselves and laughing. Gunner yelled again, “Excuse me, did I say something that amuses you?”
An older man dressed as a marine, standing behind the windshield, stood on a seat and gripped the top bar of the glass. “So, what part of the military you with? ‘Cause there sure as hell ain’t no more United States.”
Gunner ignored the question. “Are you armed?”
“No, sir, but I see you all are,” the man yelled back.
“Good… go ahead and bring your boat in. We’ll throw you a line, but let’s keep your hands up,” Gunner shouted.
The men on the craft seemed to be arguing with each other; one continually pointed back at the fort while the others shook their heads in disagreement. Finally, the older man moved back behind the controls and the engine started. As Gunner had requested, the others put their hands up and held the windshield so they could be seen. The boat pulled in close and drifted sideways. Nelson tossed a line that was caught by the man in the Navy uniform.
