“Are you assholes aware you’ve got creepers coming up behind you?”
He smiled at Will and felt a sense of relief as the rest of the boss’s team came around the bend behind him. Each of them carried two heavy-looking sacks.
“Let’s go,” Danny said, feeling as happy as a fat man in a donut shop. He could feel an idiotic grin on his face that would put him on the receiving end of a week’s worth of jibes, and he didn’t care.
Will’s group had already turned back south, and it took Danny’s team didn’t catch up until they’d reached the gun club. They didn’t have to look behind them to see that the creepers were following; they could see the dead coming two, three, and four at a time down the side streets they ran past. Danny figured there was four or five dozen back there now. He gave thanks that the way in front was clear, so far. That was the key. Even laden down with two big, heavy bags each, they were still much faster than the dead. As long as the way ahead stayed clear, it didn’t matter what happened behind them.
He slowed and waited on Tara. She was red-faced, breathing hard, and lagging behind. He arranged his grain sacks so they were both under his left arm. Without saying a word he reached over with his free hand and grasped one of her sacks. She resisted him at first, then let it go and gave him a grateful smile. A handful of steps later Andro drifted to his side and took the extra bag off his hands. They jogged like that, passing the extra sack from one person to another until they reached the fence.
One by one they scampered through the hole they had cut in the fence earlier in the day. Danny was next-to-last through, followed by Will. The herd lumbered along through the tall grass; their vanguard was thirty yards away. Danny and Jiri held the cut ends of the fence together while Coy and Will threaded a thick wire through the two sides to plug the hole. They finished the repair job, then watched. A minute passed before the front wave of the herd hit the fence. The creepers pushed against it, snarling and reaching through with their fingers. The rest of the dead plowed into the ones in front without slowing and the fence began to lean like a drunk man on a slanted sidewalk.
Danny counted the sacks in the truck bed to make sure they were all there, then got behind the wheel. Will and Jiri jumped in the cab with him and the rest climbed in the bed. As Danny drove away from the fence, the three looked at one another and said nothing. Will broke the silence with a savage roar and thrust both fists over his shoulders. Jiri chanted ‘Rock Chalk Jayhawk’ at the top of his lungs. Will slung an arm around Danny’s head and pulled him close. Danny kept one eye on his driving while he rested his forehead against Will’s. “We did it, fucker,” Will growled, “we fucking did it. We beat their dead asses.”
The bed of the truck sounded like the winning locker room after the Super Bowl as the folks back there celebrated the victory.
He drove around the bend to the awaiting van. Those in the truck bed climbed out. Will leaned over Jiri and stuck his head out the open window. “Coy, get your little ass in here with us. Everybody else, hop in the van.”
Danny took a last look back at the base. He could no longer see where they had run through the field. The creepers followed the sound of Ford and were gathering against the fence closest to it. He felt a sense of trepidation.
“Will, we didn’t seal up the other fence hole,” he said, waving toward the gathering creepers.
Will regarded the dead for a long moment. “Fuck em,” he said. “If they get through and find their way to camp before we head out, we’ll light them up. We have the weapons to do it now.” Leaning back out the window, he smiled a wicked smile. “Let’s go tell the gang we won one.”
Chapter Ten
* * *
Will and Danny sat on the Ford’s tailgate, grinning and watching the ruckus in front of them. The loot they’d brought back from the base was spread out in long rows that took up most of the campground. Folks picked through the items like they were at a Wal-Mart on Black Friday. Women checked sizes on jeans and bras, trading them back and forth, laughing in a relaxed manner Will hadn’t seen in a while. The men tried on boots, jackets, and gloves, and hunted for packages of underwear in their size. They passed canned fruit and pickles around like hors-d'oeuvre at a fancy party.
Only the firearms were untouched. Though there were enough for each member to carry both a rifle and a handgun, Will made a decision. Before people walked around armed, they had to go through training on how to handle the weapons and show some proficiency at shooting them. So far that meant six people could carry, including himself, and Tara had approached him about being the seventh. He wasn’t sure it would be a popular decision, but as long as they were looking to him to keep them safe he wasn’t beyond laying down the occasional unpopular edict. Better a few unhappy folks in the group than someone killed because they couldn’t handle a weapon or someone forgot to clear the chamber and shot someone else by accident.
“Are we going to arm George?” Danny asked.
“I imagine the old coot knows his way around a weapon,” Will answered. “If he does, and if he wants to carry one, I don’t see why not. Same as I told you before- he’s one of us until he shows us he isn’t.”
“Are you teaching the shooting lessons?”
“Nope. Coy will. He’s a better shot than either of us. Besides, you and I will be busy enough.”
“Busy doing what?”
“Shit, Danny.” Will shook his head, annoyed at his number two’s inability to see beyond what lay right in front of him. “Just because we’ve got guns and a few weeks worth of food, it doesn’t mean it’s time to slow down and put our feet up. We have to get to Carthage. We still don’t have any medicine. So we’re going to have to sweep and scavenge pharmacies, and who knows what else we will need.” He turned to look Danny in the eye and lowered his voice. “And I don’t care what George says about how empty this quarry is. If it’s the utopia he says, there will be people making it their home. So if we want to stay, we’ll have to fight or work something out.”
“Do you think it will come to that? Fighting for control of the quarry?”
Will blew out a deep breath. “Not control, just ownership of a little part we can call our own. And yes, depending on how many people are there, and what kind of people they are, it could come to that. That’s why we went after the guns. We don’t need a dozen M16s and Berettas to fight off creepers.
“Remember those guys up by Warsaw? Human nature tells me that many of the people who have survived to this point are like those shit-knockers, looking to kill the men they come across and rape the women. The next time a group of assholes comes at us, they will find an army coming back at them.” He gazed at Danny intently. “Would you shoot a man if he intended me harm? Or Coy, or Becky... any of those people over there?”
Dannyspitin the dust between his boots and eyed Will for a moment, then the corner of his mouth twitched. “Shit Will, back when I was rodeoing I shot a guy in the leg for stealing my ham and cheese sandwich. So yeah, I think I could kill if that’s what it took to protect our people.”
Will stared at him, eyes agog. “You shot a man over a sandwich?”
“Yeah, but it was just a flesh wound. I was a hero for a week on the circuit- everybody hated that guy. He was a pussy calf-roper who never finished in the money, so he stole from everybody to pay his entrance fees.”
Will looked at him in silence. Danny met his gaze, wide-eyed and innocent. Will snorted, then broke out in a wide grin and whacked Danny on the head.
“You’re an asshole,” he said in an admiring tone.
Danny raised his hands wide. “That’s why you love me.”
Will awoke the next morning with his mind in turmoil. He felt a strong urge to round up the group and tell them to pack- they would head out at midmorning. But he didn’t know where to go or how to get there. Hell, he didn’t even have a plan what to do with the food they’d scavenged on the base. That needed to be worked out unless he wanted a bunch of people walking 150 miles with grain sacks
of groceries slung over their shoulder. It was time to have some conversations and make some plans.
He found Danny asleep in the bed of the Ford. His hat was pulled down over his eyes and he wore a blinding white tee shirt, a pair of underwear, and nothing else.
“Jesus, boy,” he pounded hard on the side of the truck. Danny shot up, his eyes bouncing every which direction. “Wake up and put on some pants. There are women about.”
“Any new ones, or just the same old same old?” Danny laid back down, blocking the sun from his eyes with one hand and casually fondling himself with the other.
“You’re gonna play with that too much one day and break it clean off.”
“That would solve most of my problems,” Danny sighed. Back home he had been a notorious skirt-chaser, and his inability to stay interested in a woman for longer than three weeks caused him no end of trouble.
“Lyla Duke,” Will said with a snicker.
Danny groaned and put a hand over his face.
Lyla Duke showed up at the little house Danny lived in on the ranch one icy winter night last year, looking for Danny to warm her up. Only she found him curled up under the covers with a different little cutie. Lyla reacted in a negative manner.
Taking the words to the Carrie Underwood song to heart, she dug a key up and down the side of Danny’s four-wheel drive Ford. She pulled a two by four from the truck bed and smashed the running lights and the front and back signal lights. For her finishing touch, she took a can of beer from the six-pack in the back seat of her car, opened it, and poured the contents into the truck’s fuel tank. Will drove him to town the next day to buy a new truck, and ever since he liked to remind him of the ordeal every six months or so.
“Get dressed.” Will banged on the truck one more time for emphasis. “Work’s waiting.” He walked off in search of George.
It was a beautiful morning. Late September was a good time to be in Southwest Missouri. The air was crisp and cool; parking the nation’s car and truck fleet had done wonders for the air quality. The leaves were changing on the trees. Everywhere he looked the maples and oaks exploded in color, displaying vibrant hues of red, orange and yellow. Brown-eyed Susans and ironweed jutted up above the grass in vibrant bursts of yellow and blue. The river gurgled and swirled in the background. Dragonflies dashed and darted over the water like fighter jets in a dogfight. It’d be damned idyllic if not for the fact that at any moment dead people determined to eat his face could come crashing out of the woods.
He scanned the trees, looking for a splash of color that didn’t belong. A third of the way up a gnarled old white oak, he saw it- George’s tree stand. He shook his head. Every night the old man climbed a tree, placed his stand, and slept sitting up with his back against the trunk. They offered him bedding and a sleeping bag, and Coy had even volunteered to scavenge him up a tent. But he refused them all.
“There’s plenty of folks that got bit when they was sleeping on the ground, but you ain’t never seen a biter in a tree,” he said more than once.
He ambled over to the tree and looked about to see if anyone was watching. Feeling foolish, he craned his neck, cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted. “George! You awake?”
George didn’t answer, but a trickle of urine just missed Will’s left ear. “Christ, George!” he shouted, jumping backward. “You’re pissing on me!”
The flow stopped, and the old man called out. “Who’s that? Is someone down there?”
“Yes, George! Somebody’s here. It’s Will.”
“Hidy, Will!”
“Jesus wept,” Will muttered, rubbing his forehead.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing,” Will called out in a clipped voice. “If you think you could clamber down out of your tree, I want to talk to you.”
“Okay, buddy.”
“Meet me over at camp in fifteen minutes.”
“Okay. But Will?”
“What?”
“I don’t have a watch. I lost the pocket watch my Grandpappy left me one day when I was running from biters down around Garland and I ain’t replaced it yet.”
Will took a deep breath and forced himself to remain calm. “Just estimate it, George. It’s okay if you’re a trifle early or late.”
“Okay, buddy.”
Will walked off, shaking his head. He couldn’t get a handle on the man, and it bothered him. What had Danny called him- a ‘half-a-tard’? Everybody had a cousin or uncle that was lacking for book smarts but crafty and wily as hell. Sometimes George seemed like that guy. And sometimes he seemed mentally challenged.
As he strode back into camp, he spied Becky over by their sleeping bags. She had on a new pair of jeans, and a flannel shirt tied at her waist. She stood over a picnic table with a pair of bowls on top of it. She stirred steaming water from a pot into one of the bowls.
“Morning,” he said, giving her a peck on the cheek. “What are you brewing?”
“Oatmeal. Apple and raisin oatmeal, to be exact. Here’s yours,” she offered him a bowl.
He wrinkled his nose and didn’t accept the bowl “You know I think oatmeal made with water tastes like mule shit.”
Becky blew a frustrated breath that made her auburn bangs flutter. “Yes, William. But water is what we have. If we were at home and I had my kitchen, I’d make you eggs and hash browns. But we're not and I don’t. So please- eat the oatmeal.”
“Pass,” he told her, then smiled to show no hard feelings. “I will say this, though- you look as tasty as a June peach in those new jeans.”
She gave him a smile for an answer. He stretched, yawned and draped an arm over her shoulders. “Where’s our boy?”
“He got up right after you, got his gear, and said he’d be fishing over by the bend.”
“That boy’s a hunting and fishing fool.”
“Thank goodness. Do you know how much fresh meat we’d missed out on if he hadn’t shot it or caught it?”
“Most of it.” He cast one last grievous look at the bowl of oatmeal. “Well, I’ve got to fetch him back. Danny and George will be around soon. Will you find Jiri and Tara and let them know I’ll be right back? We’re going to have a pow-wow. You can come too, I guess,” he said as an afterthought.
“Wonderful. It’ll be the first time I’ve come in weeks.” She laughed hard at his expression.
“I’ll put that one my to-do list, little lady.” He smacked her on the butt and headed off it get Coy.
The group formed a rough semi-circle around the truck’s tailgate and looked at Will, who turned to George. “Okay, George. Where are we going?”
“About three hundred miles west/southwest. In the old days, you’d take I-44 all but the last ten miles, then get on 49 to swing around north of town. Nothing to it.”
“What about now? Can we go that way?”
George removed his cap and scratched his head. “I dunno. I just ain’t been that way.”
Will nodded that he understood. On our trip down, the four-lane roads were impassable.”
Several voices murmured agreement.
“Wall-to-wall stalled traffic, and creepers wandering everywhere. So we assume 44 would be the same way. What about the back roads, the county roads down this way? We traveled mostly county roads to get down here.”
“Yeah, that’s how I come up,” George agreed. “Now, there is a back way to Carthage, once you get past Springfield.”
“Back way?”
“Springfield? I thought Springfield was in Illinois,” interrupted Danny, looking perplexed.
“There are five municipalities with the name Springfield in the U.S.,” explained Jiri, “Including Springfield Missouri, not far from here.”
“No shit?” Danny said in a wondering voice.
“Dumb ass,” Coy jeered. “He was born in Russia and he knows more about this country than you.”
“Actually, I was born in Czechoslovakia,” Jiri corrected in a polite tone of voice.
Coy gave him a quiz
zical look. “That’s not the same thing?”
“Can we please have a little goddamn focus!” Will said, struggling to keep his temper under control. He took a deep breath, then went on. “George. What back way.”
“Bout twenty miles the other side of Springfield you can exit off on 96 highway. That’s a two-lane and it runs smack into the quarry north of Carthage.”
“That sounds interesting. And this back way, you know it well?”
George nodded.
“What if we get off the road and end up traveling through fields? Can you still get us there?”
“I reckon I can tell which way is west no matter if I’m standing in the road or in a field.”
“Good then. We know where we’re going.” He looked at Becky and Tara. “Can you two show everyone the MOLLE packs?”
He had spent time with the two women the night before, showing them how to attach the pouches and how the hydration bladder worked.
Both nodded yes.
“Thanks. Everyone understand, the packs are half-and-half. Half clothes and whatever personal belongings you have. The other half food, ammo, meds if we ever get any- stuff that belongs to the group.”
“So you’ll distribute the common items- ammo, food, tools and such- among everybody?” Jiri asked.
“That’s the plan. I figure we’ll hoof it most of the way. Even on the back roads, we’ll run into pile-ups and abandoned cars, messes we can’t drive a truck around.”
“And if we’re on foot,” Danny took over for Will, “Unless we want people pushing wheelbarrows or pulling handcarts we need to carry the common things in the packs.”
Jiri nodded his understanding.
“Coy-Boy,” Will smiled because Coy hated that nickname, “When can you finish the firearms training?”
“There’s seven that need it, not counting little Tempest; and I don’t think you want an armed eight-year-old,” Coy began.
“Yeah. Let’s not do that.” Will said. As always, he felt a stab of pride when he looked at his son. Tall and wiry, Coy had hazel eyes that missed nothing. His long lashes and dimpled cheeks gave him a hint of a feminine appearance. Without fail he was polite and helpful, generous and kind. Those characteristics masked the fact that the boy was absolutely lethal. He was the best marksman Will had ever seen, and had mastered killing with a bow or knife, too. He had a top reputation in Northern Kansas among those who hunted, fished, and trapped. Coy won the state wrestling championship as a freshman and missed repeating his sophomore year by the narrowest of margins. He lost a 4-3 decision in the semi-finals that year; that loss haunted him for months. If there was a person alive that God had created to survive the apocalypse, it was Coy. Will loved his son openly and unabashedly with all his heart, and Coy worshiped his father.
Haven (Book 1): Journey Page 7
