by W. J. Lundy
“Why you interested in that hunk-a-junk? You already have a real nice carbine.”
“What would you think if I told you I had less than ten rounds left when you ambushed me?”
Kyle laughed hard, and then coughed until he was spitting more blood. He took a deep breath followed by a long drag of the cigarette. “Ha! Guess we did fuck with the wrong soldier, didn’t we?”
“Why would your brother and the old man go so far out on the road with just that shotgun?”
Kyle sighed. “They called it hunting. They’d go a mile or two up the road and set up in the woods. If they got a deer that was great; if not, maybe they’d find a group on the road. Travelers; if they was weak—you know, only one or in a pair—sure they’d jump 'em and just take they things, maybe turn ‘em around, maybe worse. But if they was well armed and looked friendly enough, or like they had stuff we’d be wanting, Gary would talk to ‘em and tell ‘em what we got back here. That we had a nice place for ‘em. Usually they agreed and he’d drive them right into our ambush. Boy, was we surprised when you come running through them logs like a bat outta hell.” Kyle laughed and coughed up more blood.
“That’s not how it was supposed to work. Gary would usually ride in the back with ‘em and Earl would drive through the logs and stop. He’d act all shocked and scared while we moved in. Then, when the time was right, we’d take care of ‘em. Jasper, enjoyed it, I think. Guess you all musta’ got lucky.”
“They were after the girl,” Shane said.
Kyle coughed again and nodded. “That sounds like Gary; he was always trying to find women.”
“She’s a kid!”
“I know, mister,” Kyle said apologetically, then let the cigarette hang from his lips as he laid his head back.
Kyle stopped talking and took in deep, labored breaths. The sun had dropped and there was only a low glow coming from the hallway light bulb. Shane thought he heard the kid cry. He looked in his direction and saw the orange tip of the cigarette. Shane let the fire go out as night fell. Kyle told him it was safe inside the walls, but it wasn’t cold enough to take the risk. He pushed back into an overstuffed couch and felt Ella move up next to him with the wool blanket from his pack. He allowed her to sit on his lap as she curled up against him.
Night came, and so did the moaning sounds of the infected. They sounded distant and random, but it still put him on edge. Shane pulled the pistol from his waistband and held it in his hand as it rested on the arm of the couch. He considered tying the kid back up, but then he heard a gurgling snore come from Kyle’s direction. In the distance, Shane thought he heard the low whoomp, whoomp, whoomp of a helicopter. He listened intently but the sound quickly faded.
He lifted Ella and laid her on the couch with her head resting near him. He tucked the green blanket in around her, then eased back into the cushion, prepared to stay awake and determined to guard her through the night. Another string of wet coughs and painful grunting came from Kyle’s direction, followed by the wheezing snore.
“I’ll let you sleep Kyle, it’s more than you deserve,” Shane whispered even though he knew the boy wouldn’t hear him.
CHAPTER 22
Bright flashes and explosive gunfire jerked Brad’s body awake. He rolled to the left, knocking over his rifle while trying to bring up his pistol, but not finding a target. His ears were ringing and bright flashes bled away his night vision. Brad looked up, squinting, and saw a crewman take a burst of gunfire to his chest, then stumble backwards, firing a shotgun blast into the sky. Another man ran for a rail but was cut down by a long, unsuppressed burst from Brooks’ MP5.
Sean and Meyers were already on their feet, pressed against the sides of the pilothouse. Meyers brought back the butt stock of the SA80 and slammed it through a window, effectively smashing the glass out. Nearly simultaneously, Sean pulled the pin of a flash bang and tossed it into the compartment. Both men looked away as the crack of an explosion and a bright flash shocked the air. The door was blown outwards and Meyers swung around it and stepped through. Moments later, Brad saw Sean on the roof of the structure and heard Meyers shouting, “All clear,” from below.
“Dammit! I think I’m hit,” Parker yelled, pulling up his T-shirt and exposing a long, red gash across his right hip. Joey quickly moved to his side, opened a gauze bandage, and slapped it to the wound. “It’s just a scratch, stop pouting. Doc Howard, can you have a look at this?” he shouted while keeping pressure on the bandage.
Gunner walked through the mess. “Anyone want to tell me what the hell just happened?” he yelled.
Meyers came through the door, dragging a crew man out by flex-cuffed hands. He dropped him heavily to the deck and turned to watch Sean drag out the captain.
“Their skipper’s bleeding out. Ain’t much left of him,” Sean shouted.
Brooks walked over, stepped around the captured men as he switched out magazines in his MP5, and looked to Gunner. “They tried moving on us. Those two over there,” he said, pointing at two crumpled forms by the deck. “They come out of the pilothouse with weapons up, then more lined up on the roof. Looks like they were looking to kill us off and keep our gear. I fired before they could coordinate. That sound about right?” Brooks said, giving the captain a gentle kick to the ribs.
David jerked and turned his head, looking away. Meyers stepped in and gave him another tap with the toe of his boot. “Come on now, mate; don’t get shy on us,” Meyers said as he knelt to the deck and looked the captain in the eye.
“Your equipment was the only way we’re gonna get paid for this trip. Fuel ain’t free, you know. It’s nothing personal,” David said. “We weren’t gonna kill you, just tie you up and leave you on shore.”
Brooks grunted. “Damn, now this is awkward, I sure do apologize for the misunderstanding.”
Brad stood back, watching the scene and spotted Chelsea near Howard and Parker. He moved to her side and he could see she was okay. Parker’s wound had already been cleaned and Howard was taping a thick dressing to it. Brad clipped his rifle back to his vest as Sean and Meyers were forcing the captain and the other sailor into back-to-back sitting positions.
“What are they going to do?” Chelsea whispered to Brad.
“Not sure,” Brad replied. He turned and looked over the rail. They were in the center of the river and at anchor, even though he could still hear the engines at a low idle. The not so distant shorelines were full of moving shadows—the gunfight had obviously attracted them. Beyond the rows of Primals, Brad spotted a short aluminum dock and a small two story house set back from the river. A loud scream caused him to turn back in the direction of the wounded men. Brooks had his hand on the captain’s abdomen and was peeling away layers of clothing. The captain yelped in protest.
“He’s in bad shape, nothing I can do for him.” Brooks shook his head. “Nope, he won’t make it without some high level surgery,” Brooks said, probing the wound. “This other one is fine… unless you don’t want him to be?”
Gunner squatted and looked the captain in the eyes. “So you were planning to dump us? Like you did the girl and her soldier?”
David lifted his head defiantly. “I got you to your destination. That’s the closest structure to where we lost sight of ‘em. Did you think this was a free ride?”
“I’m sure we could’ve worked something out; ‘fraid you just put yourself out of business.” Gunner stood and looked at Sean. “Toss ‘em,” he ordered.
Sean looked at Gunner. “Toss him?”
“Chief, throw his pirate ass over the side,” Gunner shouted as he moved to the second man.
Sean reached down and grabbed David under an arm as Brooks did the same on the opposite side. They forced him to his feet while David screamed in agony. “You can’t do this! This is my boat.”
The two men ignored his argument and brought him to the rail. Sean adjusted his grip and grabbed a fist full of clothing on the man’s back. Then, as he held him out over the edge and dangling above the dar
k river, he paused and looked back at Gunner. “You sure?”
“I have no sympathy for people like him,” Gunner said.
Sean nodded and shoved hard, then jerked back; the captain yelped as he dangled over the rail.
“Stop, dammit! You can’t do this!” David screamed.
Gunner stomped across the deck and Sean held tight to the fabric of the man’s jacket.
“Look around, David; I’m in charge now. I can do what I want! Now tell me, where did you drop the soldier and the girl?”
David hung over the rail mumbling but not answering the question. Gunner drew his holstered 1911, then turned back to face the second man who was still sitting on the deck, wide-eyed with fear.
“Get him on his feet!” Gunner yelled.
Meyers quickly dropped down and grabbed a shoulder as Brad jumped forward to grab the other. They dragged him kicking and screaming to the rail next to the captain. Sean pulled back on David’s jacket so that he was now shoulder-to-shoulder with the sailor.
“Okay, this is speed poker in the worst way it can be played,” Gunner whispered, leaning forward so that he was speaking between the two men’s heads. “I want to know where the girl is; where you put them ashore,” he said just above a whisper.
Gunner took the barrel of his pistol and pressed it against the back of David’s thigh. “You’re up, Captain.”
David growled and spit over the rail into the water. Gunner pulled the trigger, launching a 45 caliber round through the captain’s leg and ripping out the front of his quad. David howled and nearly fell over the rail, but Sean caught him and pulled him back in, allowing the man’s weight to lie on the railing. The second man squirmed and went weak in the knees. He tried to pull away from Brad, who—although shocked at the events—maintained his grip and helped steady the man on his feet.
“Now you see how this played,” Gunner yelled. He took the pistol and placed it against the sailor’s leg. “Your turn; where are they?”
“No, no, we didn’t put them ashore. The captain, made ‘em jump,” the sailor pleaded.
“Ding, ding, ding. Gentleman, we have a winner,” Gunner shouted. “Bonus round! Where did they jump? I’m asking you, Captain.”
David grunted and vomited into the water. He inhaled deeply. “Just up the river… from here, they jumped over… and the damn grunt tossed… grenade that blew up the pilothouse,” he said between gasps. “I know they was good in the water… I watched them go around the bend.”
“What’s between here and the last location you saw them?” Gunner asked.
“Nothing, just fields… we floated to here trying to find them. We anchored for most of the day off this dock. The soldier was smart. If he made it, this is where he would have gone.”
“But, you didn’t see him?”
David shook his head. “No.”
“Very well,” Gunner said. He walked closer and relieved Sean of his position, grabbing David by the jacket. “David, nothing personal, but you went against me.” He pushed hard and David spilled headfirst into the water. His body dropped below the surface, and then his head came up gasping for air. He kicked his good leg and swam with the current. He swam surprisingly well, considering his condition. He managed to reach the aluminum dock, where he stuck his arms out and grasped the corner of the decking with his fingertips. He pulled himself in and looked back at the barge with a menacing glare.
From behind and above, dark hands reached down and dragged the captain from the water. The Primals howled and screamed in a state of frenzy as they swarmed his body. The mass pulled him away, toward the field, before disappearing into the darkness with the still screaming man.
Brad stood, entranced by the sight on the dock. He felt the sailor in his grip shiver and, suddenly, Brad felt pity for the man. Not wanting to see the sailor’s face, he gripped the man tight under the arms and looked away. He heard Gunner walk behind them. “Okay, set him back down.”
Brad exhaled a sigh of relief as he walked in step with Meyers to drag the sailor back to the center of the deck. After dropping him, they pushed him back into a seated position. Brad took a stumbling step back and retook his place next to Chelsea; she moved in behind him and pushed against his back. Gunner was still at the far rail, quietly exchanging words with Sean. He nodded, then turned and walked back to the sailor.
Gunner stepped until he was right in front of the prisoner. He squared his feet and looked down at him. “You’ve got one chance and one chance only. Take us up the river to the last place you saw the pair… or join your captain.”
CHAPTER 23
Shane watched the sun slowly rise through a dirty glass window. He’d stayed awake all night keeping the watch and as Shane adjusted himself, he reached beside him to check Ella. She was sleeping soundly under the blanket. He tucked the edges in around her and slowly pushed to his feet, feeling the grinding and burning in his back. He looked across the room at the still figure on the mattress.
Sometime in the middle of the night, Kyle’s gurgling snore had gotten raspier, then shrill, and then the time between breaths lengthened. Shane listened intently as the kid finally took his last breath and went silent. Now standing over the body, he felt no emotion for him. Shane pulled the sheet over the corpse and twisted an end shut before he dragged it off the mattress, toward a wall of the building. He would have to dispose of it later.
Shane walked to a window set in the cinderblock wall. He looked outside and into the rear yard. Rows of junked cars and other piled bits of scrap metal stretched for over a hundred yards before ending at the tall, metal-skinned fence. Shane watched silently, looking for any movement; any sign that the compound may not be safe. Somehow, this unlikely place appeared to be a secure sanctuary, a place where they could stay for a while and rest. The only downside was that it was set right on the road, and unlike the bandits, he wouldn’t have the manpower to maintain a guard.
He turned and looked around the room at the stacked piles of boxes and crates of food. Shane walked to the hallway and back to the small bathroom he’d spotted the night before. He reached in, flicked a light switch, and was surprised to see a small light turn on. Hoses with clamped ends hung from the ceiling; one stopped above the sink, another about the toilet’s tank. Shane walked to the small sink, unclamped the red rubber hose, and a stream of water poured from its end.
Shane smiled and let the water pour over his head and hands as he washed himself. The hoses must stretch to more rain catches on the roof, he thought. Shane used the toilet then refilled the tank before he turned and moved back to the large garage space. Digging through a box, he found a can of fruit, then sat heavily in a chair and opened the can. He drank the juice and ate the fruit while he watched Ella sleep.
Ella began to stir; she pulled the blanket off then scrambled to an upright position and looked at Shane. He smiled at her and asked if she was hungry. She yawned and nodded. He got back up and dug through the box for another can, then poured the contents into a bowl. She smiled as he handed it to her. “Are we going to stay here, Shane?” she asked as she brought a spoonful of fruit cocktail to her lips.
Shane looked around. “I think we can stay for a couple days, until we are rested.”
Ella took another bite; juice went down her chin and left dirty streaks as she said, “Where is Kyle?”
“He had to go, Ella. You know what? I think it’s time we got you a bath,” he said changing the subject.
Ella shook her head and put down the bowl. “Where did he go? Is he coming back?”
“No, he won’t be coming back,” Shane said, getting to his feet. He walked around the interior of the garage and stopped when he found a large pail of clean rags. He sorted through them to find suitable ones that could be used as washrags and towels. A bit more searching and he found a partially used bottle of hand soap. “Okay, Ella, enough stalling; let’s get you into some water.”
Ella shook her head again, sat back, and pulled the wool blanket over her head. Shane
laughed and scooped her up from the couch, blanket and all. He walked her through an open door and into the yard. There were a number of troughs and barrels positioned around the property, filled to varying levels with rain water. Shane walked toward a large plastic basin. He sat Ella down and looked at the tub. Plastic had been stretched over it, with a small hole cut in the center of the thin film. As water hit the film, gravity pulled it toward the center and into the tub. It seemed wrong to waste fresh water, but there were weeks’ worth of water all around him.
Shane pulled back the plastic and put his hand in the clear water. It was warm, the solar effect of the plastic having heated the water. He turned toward the girl and removed the wool blanket. He carefully folded it and set it on the ground, then helped the girl undress. He lifted her up and gently lowered her into the tub. She smiled when she felt the warm water and quickly began to play. Shane squeezed hand soap into his palm and began to clean the dirt from her hair and back. She protested but stood still while he scrubbed.
“Do you have a little girl, Shane?” she asked as Shane used the clean rag to wipe the soap from her face.
“I never had any kids,” he answered as he put the wet rag over her shoulder.
“Then how come you know how to take care of girls? My Dad isn’t good at girls.”
Shane let out a deep laugh. “Oh, I don’t think I know too much about girls. It’s good you’re so tiny, or you’d figure it out.”
Shane reached into the tub and lifted her out, setting her on the center of the wool blanket. He dried her with a second rag, then hung it over her shoulders as he went to work washing her clothing in the barrel. After pulling the makeshift towel around her, Ella dropped to sit on the blanket and watch him wash the clothing.
“Do you have a wife?”
“Why so many questions? No, I never had a wife.”
“Do you have a girlfriend?” she asked, watching as Shane wrung out her now clean T-shirt then began squirting soap onto her soiled jeans.
