by W. J. Lundy
“No. I did once though; she was pretty like you but she didn’t like my job. I left one day and when I came back, she was gone.” He scrubbed the fabric, pulled the jeans from the water, and started ringing them out. When he was done, he hung them over the side of the barrel. He pulled the folded edges of the blanket up and around Ella then lifted her into his right arm as he grabbed the wet clothing with his left.
“I like your job, Shane,” she whispered as he carried her back to the open garage door. He pulled her in and she rested her head on his shoulder. Shane stopped as he heard the thumping, same as from the night before. Unmistakably a helicopter, but not the large military types he was used to. He stopped, standing motionless just feet from the door. As he listened, the sound got louder then faded away. Searching maybe? Shane thought. Searching for what? As the sounds of the rotors faded, they were replaced by the infected that were prematurely woken early in the day.
Shane moved through the door and bolted it behind him. He brought Ella to the couch and placed her on the cushions. He left the rags and blankets wrapped around her while he laid her clothing out to dry. Shane used dry wood to build a small nearly smokeless fire. His eyes wandered to the high ceiling of the garage where he watched the light gray wisps of smoke climb and be pulled through a high open skylight. He followed the corner of the ceiling and saw a small metal ladder that led to a roof access.
He saw that it was a pull down ladder currently in its up position. He looked to check on Ella and saw that she had manage to turn pieces of firewood into dolls and was deep in conversation with them.
“Stay on the couch, Ella, I’ll be back in a minute,” he said.
Shane got to his feet and walked across the garage to the access ladder. He pulled on the control rope and slowly allowed his weight to drop the ladder to its down position. He looked back at Ella; she was still on the couch and occupied in play.
Shane put a boot on the ladder. Finding it solid, he climbed the top and discovered a square metal access hatch that was left open. Shane poked his head through and stepped onto the roof. As he suspected, two large rain barrels and coils of rubber hose sat above where he figured the bathroom would be below. There were large banks of solar panels and a number of homemade wind turbines connected to automobile alternators. Everything was tied into covered banks of 12-volt car batteries.
He walked across the roof to the road side of the building where he could see the gate and the highway beyond it. From his high vantage point, he could see over some of the tree tops and farther to the south. He saw tall electrical towers and noted that there were several homes leading away in the direction he hadn’t yet traveled. Shane turned and searched the direction the helicopter sounds had come from. He could see the perimeter fence circling the compound; beyond the fence was a narrow stretch of high grass, then thick forest.
He walked the entire outline of the roof while scanning the perimeter fence. The area appeared secure but he would have to get down and check it closer to also look for an emergency escape route. He saw no signs of the infected, not even on the roads. The houses within his line of sight were too far away to get a good look at, though. If he decided to stay here, they would have to be checked out. He liked the security of the building but worried it would become a target for other wandering groups.
Shane walked back to the hatch and prepared to step down when the loud blast of a distant explosion caught his attention. He moved back to the roof and looked in the direction of the sound. He heard the rattle of small arms fire, followed by more explosions. Smoke billowed far in the distance—it was toward the river, the direction he’d come from. Another loud explosion, rapid gunfire, and the sound of the distant helicopter made Shane scramble for the hatch and drop into the building below.
CHAPTER 24
The sailor guided them back to the bend in the river where the crew had lost sight of the soldier. The barge was brought in close to the shore and the engines were shut down. They waited, watching the shoreline as dawn approached. They found this portion of the river void of life—most of the infected having traveled farther down river, attracted by the noise of previous gunfire and the feeding frenzy of the Primals.
Brad prepped the remainder of his gear, then assisted Chelsea and Parker to go through checklists of gear that Meyers had laid out on the deck. Mostly satellite base systems, GPS, mobile phones, a large antenna array, and, of course, sets of heavy batteries. Meyers was documenting every item as it was distributed: what it was, to which person it was given, and where in each pack it was located.
Parker cussed as another heavy battery pack was tossed in his direction. “What’s with all of this stuff?” he asked.
Meyers held up a sat phone. “Mate, if we get into trouble, this handy little item can call in a Tomahawk. I don’t think you will be whining about the weight of the battery if it comes to that.”
Joey reached down and pulled the battery form Parker’s grip. “I got you,” he said, dropping the battering into a pocket on the front of his own rucksack.
Gunner stomped out of the pilothouse, breaking up the conversation as he pushed the captured sailor ahead of him. Gunner forcibly turned the man and directed him against the wall.
“I was able to contact the fort on the High Frequency; I let Kelli and Cordell in on current events,” Gunner said, looking at Meyers but speaking so that everyone could hear. He turned and looked at the sailor. “I’m tempted to put a bullet in you, but Cordell tells me that this barge and your work are essential to the survival of the fort. So… looks like you will be getting a second chance. I’m counting on you to deliver this barge back to the fort; do it and you’re off the hook, cross me again and I’ll track you down and feed you to the Primals—”
“Bullshit, man; let’s kill this dude. We can get the boat on the return trip!” Joey countered.
Gunner grinned. Looking back at the sailor, he said, “My friend makes a hell of a point. If I thought we would be returning back to this point, I’d probably take him up on it.”
“Then how we getting back if the boat leaves?” Joey asked.
“We have Kelli on comms; she will send someone for us. If that fails, Meyers has the sub on satcom and they can relay the message for us,” Gunner answered. “Unless you want to volunteer to take ride with our new friend back to Sumter.”
“Nah, screw that. I’m a killer, not a stow-away.”
“Then I guess we have nothing to talk about,” Gunner said.
Joey conceded by shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t know, man. Seems like a wasted opportunity to off a scum bag, but you’re the boss, Pops.”
Sean and Brooks walked away from the rail where they were inspecting the shoreline with a set of binoculars. They joined the rest of the party in the center of the deck. “Most of the riverbank walls are high, but there are a few spots right over there where a person could come out of the water. Makes sense for us to go ashore there as well.”
Gunner reached down for his own pack and hoisted it with his strong arm. “Sounds good, Chief. Ready the small boat, we’ll head out in five.”
The small dingy could only hold three, so the first group went across, dragging a rope behind them that they tied off to a tree on the riverbank. Parker stayed in the small dingy as Brooks and Sean slipped over the side and into the muddy bank of the river. They quickly pulled themselves up and onto the grass-covered ground above. They disappeared for a moment before Sean came back into view, holding up a finger for two more.
Parker pulled on the rope and guided the small boat back to the dingy as Gunner pointed at Brad and Joey. Brad nodded and walked to the rail. Leaning over, he handed his bag to Parker and then did the same with Joey’s. Brad put a hand on the rail, climbed over and down into the dingy as Parker held the craft steady against the current as best he could. Joey climbed aboard and Parker wasted no time pulling them back to the bank.
The boat squished against the muddy edge and Brad stepped out, sinking above his ankle in
the sticky mud. He took the closest pack and heaved it over the edge, then tossed the second bag behind him. Joey got out next and together, they pushed the small boat off and back at the barge. Brad reached up and grabbed tight handfuls of the thick grass. Using his feet against the bank, he pulled himself up and over the edge before reaching down to take Joey’s wrist to pull him up next.
Brad rested silently on one knee until he spotted Sean to the far north on the opposite side of a muddy trail. He turned his head without moving the rest of his body; Brooks was to the south as he had predicted he would be. Brad tapped Joey on the shoulder and indicated for him to pick up near security by pointing to a location between them and Sean. Joey nodded and stepped off quietly with his rifle at the low ready. Brad stood crouching and moved to the south.
In less than ten minutes, the crew had all filed off the boat and lined up evenly spaced on the field side of the trail. Parker was the last one out of the dingy. He tied the rope to a cleat; the sailor reeled in the rope and secured the dingy to the barge. Then the sailor returned to the pilothouse. Gunner ordered him not to move until nightfall. He didn’t want him doing anything during daylight hours to disturb the sleeping Primals.
After staying motionless for several minutes to make sure they came ashore unnoticed, Sean turned and walked slowly until he stopped just behind Brad. Gunner was already there and Sean pointed out sets of old footprints in the muddy trail. He located breaks where a human foot had broken into the high grass and possibly moved to the road. Sean used his hand to point to swaths of bent and flattened grass where someone had waded across the field. He explained the trail was hard to identify as the soldier or an infected because of the recent action of the infected moving south to the dock. He suggested they patrol to the house.
Gunner dipped his chin in agreement. Sean walked the line, moving to the rear while signaling for the others to stand as he passed them. When he had everyone up, he slapped the man in front of him and the eight-man team began moving forward in a column formation, staying out of the high grass to remain quiet and avoid detection. Brad was third from the back, Parker just ahead of him; Brooks had taken point and was leading far ahead. Whenever Brooks would pause to examine the trail, the rest of them would kneel down, looking in opposite directions to provide a bubble of security.
Morning dew still held heavy to the grass and the muddy trail, their boots sticking with every step. Brad scanned off into the high grass and to the road beyond it. The sun was breaking through the trees to the east on the far side of the river and casting an eerie golden glow across the field. Brad imagined the Primals retreated there to avoid the daylight. He found it strange that even continents away, the Primal behavior seemed the same. In the deserts, the Primals were less active, so they blamed it on the heat of the day. In the sub temperatures of Newfoundland, they were slower but still became scarce in the daytime hours, so temperature didn’t seem to make a difference. The Primals had become nocturnal hunters, pack hunting under the cover of darkness.
Brad recalled the time they watched Primals emerge from the dunes of sand, rising into the night and howling at the stars. He looked at the tall grass and felt his heartbeat quicken as he imagined hundreds of them lying silently in it. He stepped forward and almost walked into Parker who’d stopped on the trail. Brad woke from his dark thoughts and took a knee, pointing outward to cover the field; he scanned to the left and saw the farmhouse offset from the trail.
Sean walked up the inside of the path tapping his shoulder, indicating for Brad to follow as he passed. Brad climbed to his feet and speed walked to catch up. Brooks was on a knee at the head of the column; Sean quickly moved in beside him and Brad stopped just behind to form a backward pointing triangle. Brooks waved a hand at the blood-streaked dock and bits of yellow slicker and canvas clothing that littered the trail and the field.
Sean looked at the house. “Let’s clear it,” he whispered.
Brooks got to his feet and led off with Sean directly behind him and Brad taking up the rear. They moved past the bloody dock and onto the stone path leading up to the house. Brooks moved hastily onto the porch and pressed against the wall on the knob side of the door. Sean fell in directly behind him while Brad took the opposite wall. When all men were in position, Brooks checked the knob—the door was secured. Sean removed his hawk and stepped in front of the door but Brooks held up a gloved hand to stop him. He lifted a welcome mat and shook his head, then reached and swiped his hand over the wooden trim above the door. His hand stopped and he smiled as he lowered his arm, revealing a small bronze key between his fingertips.
Sean furled his brow. He again took his position behind Brooks who inserted the key and heard the click of the lock. He again turned the doorknob and heard a clunk before it easily swung inward. Before it was all the way open, Brooks swept through the opening quickly with his submachine gun at the ready; Brad filed in after him, with Sean moving in last. They were hit with the fading smell of death; it was distant and musty, not like the rotting meat they’d become accustomed to. Without commands, the trio fanned out into the farmhouse kitchen. To the left was a stairway. Looking through the kitchen, they saw a countertop and stove, beyond that, a darkened living room.
Sean made a clicking sound with his cheek, causing the other two to look over at him. He was pointing at a drawing made on the table top, scribbled in grease pencil. It was a rough sketch of a stick figure holding a rifle. Next to him was a smaller stick figure with a ponytail. Brooks put his hand on the table and swept up crumbs and sticky drops. “This was recent,” he whispered. “There’s dust on all the chairs but this one, and the table is clean.” They inspected the kitchen and found a pot with drops of water still in the bottom. Brad waited by the back door while Brooks and Sean cleared the rest of the home; room by room, floor by floor. When Sean walked down the stairs, he stopped at the bottom briefly, then he moved back to the kitchen door, stuck his head out, and waved his arm to motion the others to come forward. He moved back in and stared at the drawing on the table before walking to the counter and taking a seat on top of it.
Howard was pushed through the door with Meyers, Chelsea, and Gunner close behind. Parker and Joey were picked to hold sentry on the back porch. Brad sat in a chair at the kitchen table and pointed at the drawing. Meyers smiled as he walked closer to examine it. “Did you find anything else?”
“We got two dead in the living room; Grandma and Grandpa been there a while, a young man chained to a wall upstairs—some crazy shit, the blood is still sticky, someone did some slicing and dicing on it. Master bedroom has been slept in recently and from the dusty footprints on the floor I’d say with certainty our soldier was here. And unless he is an idiot savant, the girl drew these pictures.
“How long ago?” Meyers asked.
Sean shrugged looking at Brooks who was leaning against the stair rail. “Two days, maybe a bit longer. Front door is unlocked and open; I’d guess they headed up and stuck to the road moving southwest.”
Meyers took a drink from a canteen. “Okay, we ain’t staying; let’s move—.”
Joey poked his head in the door interrupting, “Chief, I hear a helicopter!”
Sean jumped off the counter and briskly walked to the covered porch with the others close behind him. Just as Brad made it through the doorway, a small, fast moving, powder black AH-6 Little Bird helicopter flew by just above the water’s surface. Parker prepared to step off the porch and wave when Howard yelled, “No! Don’t.”
The others turned to look at Howard with surprise just as they heard the swoosh of a rocket, immediately followed by a loud explosion. The pitch of the helicopter’s rotor changed as it turned and climbed for elevation. Sean pushed everyone back inside, closed the door, and stood watching by the window. The helicopter made another low pass, then hovered as men on the skids fired rifles up river. The helicopter pivoted on its axis and let loose a second salvo of rockets. Black smoke plumed from where they knew the barge was anchored. The Kiowa ho
vered in position then cut a larger arc before flying off.
Sean turned and stomped to Howard. He grabbed him by the collar and spun him around, slamming his head onto the countertop. “What the fuck is going on?”
Howard struggled against Sean’s weight, trying to stand. Meyers moved closer and waved Sean aside. Sean stepped back, releasing Howard’s collar. Meyers pulled out a kitchen chair then manually moved Howard until he was sitting in it. “Now, Doctor, would you fancy an explanation?”
Howard looked up at them with sunken eyes. “They shouldn’t be here.”
“Who shouldn’t be here?” Meyers asked.
Howard shook his head. “They are the CNRT.”
“Who?” Meyers asked again.
“The Coordinated National Response Team, but this makes no sense; they already have the Aziz specimen, they don’t need the girl!”
Brooks dropped his arms as Sean stepped forward, looking at Howard. Brad’s jaw dropped with shock. “Back the fucking train up, what did you just say?” Sean said, looking flustered.
“The CNRT, that’s what they call themselves. They are looking for a cure, but they want it for themselves. No, this isn’t right; they already have patient zero, the source.”
“Aziz is the source?” Brad mumbled.
“Not exactly. Like the girl, we believe he shares a rare genetic mutation that makes him immune. He used his own blood to make the serum, the basis for the Primalis Rabia. Like a key to a lock, his blood is also the cure. We were onto him early at the CDC and Public Health Service. Aziz is a narcissist. He published his findings on known terror websites days into the global attack; he boasted and taunted us. We tried to unlock the virus’ code, but without a source patient, decoding the virus was nearly impossible under the time constraints. The CIA tracked Aziz to a few remote locations and training sites. We were close, so close, but we always got to him too late. He was eventually pulled from the mountains of Afghanistan by the CNRT before a team could be scrambled to recover him.”