by Rachel Aukes
We couldn’t wait a decade for the zeds to clear out of Chow Town. We needed food and resources now. After Clutch’s farm and Camp Fox were destroyed, it was too late to replant, leaving everyone to harvest wild crops and the few gardens that had been planted. It scared the beejeezus out of me knowing there were even more zeds on the way, eating everything in their path.
Swallowing, I glanced over my shoulder. “Hey, Jase. Did you bring the map that’s marked up with the herds?”
“Got it right here.”
“Good. If we get the chance to make a fuel stop, I’ll fly us north. What do you think, Tyler?”
He nodded. “It’s a good idea to see if they’re still on track for what we calculated. I think we’ll need to start scouting to the north every day.”
“I’ll use the Cub. It burns less fuel, and I don’t want to use this plane except when we have to because it’s in desperate need of an overhaul.” I paused. “And we have another problem.”
“Oh?” Tyler asked.
“The fuel tank at the Fox Hills airport is nearly empty,” I replied. “I can get two, maybe three, more refills for the portable tank from it. Jase has marked every airport in the area that might have av-gas, but if I have to travel farther for refills, I need a bigger portable tank. A gas truck would be perfect.”
Tyler chuckled. “Easier said than done. Every gas truck we’ve found is needed for ground support in case Camp Fox needs to become mobile. We can’t sacrifice a single truck right now.”
“I guess I’ll start searching for a plane that runs off auto fuel.”
His eyebrows rose. “There are planes that run off regular gas?”
I nodded. “Quite a few, actually. There weren’t any at the Fox Hills airport, but I’m sure there’s one at a nearby airport.”
“Hey, it looks like a grass strip down there,” Jase said.
I scanned from side to side and found a yellow crop duster sitting in tall grass. A single building and white tank sat near it.
“That’s a good one. Be sure to mark it on the map.”
“Already got it,” he said. “There’s no town for miles. The land is wide open. Might make a good fuel stop on the way back.”
“The grass is awfully tall, but yeah, it could be perfect.”
We flew in silence for the next several miles. I kept an eye on my flight path while Jase and Tyler scanned the countryside.
“That looks like a camp down there,” Tyler said, his finger pressed against the glass.
“It could be a bandit camp,” Jase said. “I don’t see any kids down there.”
“I’d rather warn bandits than not warn good people,” Tyler countered.
I slowed the Cessna and descended a hundred feet. Finding survivors was rare, but they were easy to spot. All we had to look for was signs of fortifications, and nearly every camp we’d found was at a farm.
“Can you get any closer?” Tyler asked, ruffling through a duffle.
I smirked. “Afraid gravity won’t catch the bag?”
“No, but it’d be nice to actually drop it within their fence.”
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from gritting my teeth. I’d grown an aversion to flying over camps. Every time I did, it brought back memories of Doyle’s camp and getting shot at, even though I suspected most folks were out of ammo by now. With one hand wrapped too tightly around the yoke, I dropped in some flaps, slowed the 172 to near stall speed and brought it in to circle the settlement. A half-dozen or so people came to stand outside, looking up, and shading their eyes against the sun.
The engine began to rumble roughly, and my heart lurched. I added in power. “Damn engine is getting worse. We’ve really got to get it fixed,” I muttered.
Tyler opened the window. Cool air blew into the cockpit, and he dropped out the hazard-orange painted bag filled with dirt and a single written warning about the herds heading south. He pulled the window shut and I turned back on course.
“Thanks,” Tyler said. “Any time we can warn others about the herds is potentially another life saved.”
Tyler had brought three more drop-bags, but we didn’t use them. We’d flown over what had definitely been a camp, but it looked like it had been abandoned or overrun some time ago. I often saw signs of abandoned camps, but I hadn’t seen a new camp pop up in over a month. Maybe people were moving west where the government was supposedly pooling all resources into building new “city-states” defensible against zeds.
The rumored city-states gave us all hope, but they were too far away to be considered a possibility yet. The largest rumored city was in Montana, with three states of zeds between us and them. Until we had better vehicles, the trip was too risky. We had to survive on our own in zed country.
Mid-sized groups did the best out here. Too small of a group, resources were spread too thin between fending off zeds and finding food. Too large of a group and it became a magnet for every zed in the vicinity. Camp Fox, just crossing sixty residents if the newcomers stayed, was going to become quite tempting to zeds.
The wide blue landmark in the distance caused me to refocus. “We’re coming up on the Mississippi. Start looking for our bridge,” I said to no one in particular as I strained my eyes, searching the Mississippi River for its bridges.
If the GPS had still worked, it would’ve brought me straight to our destination since Sorenson had provided the bridge’s coordinates. Now, I had to fly by sight, and I was often a mile or more off my destination. It was my fault. Like most, I’d become way too reliant on technology before the outbreak.
“Wait, I’ve got it. I’ll check in,” I said to no one in particular as I lined up to the giant yellow X that had been painted on a bridge. I pressed the radio’s transmit button. “Cessna to Camp Fox. If you can still hear us, we’re descending to land at the RP. Over.”
Dead static came as the only response.
“Clutch might have heard us, but there’s no way I could pick up his handheld from this distance. I’m not even sure he can pick us up,” I said. “We both figured that’d be the case.”
On the right day, the radio signal could cover the entire state, especially with the lack of other signals to hinder it. Today didn’t seem to be one of those days.
As the river grew larger, I descended and slowed. No signs of zeds and—unfortunately—no sign of the riverboat yet. I flew over the bridge with two steel arches. “Everything looks clear, but I’m not seeing our guys. You guys see any zeds?”
“No. Nothing,” came the response from my crew.
I lined up for the bridge again, this time running through my landing checklist. Touching down this close to the river set my nerves on edge, even though the highway was open for a quarter-mile before the bridge, and I had plenty of runway ahead of me. Still, it was discomfiting having all that iron and open water surrounding me. It wouldn’t take too much to veer off and hit a wingtip, and then we’d be stranded over two hundred miles away from Camp Fox. And, once down, I’d have to taxi onto the bridge so we didn’t have to walk to our destination.
The engine sputtered a couple times on final approach, and I throttled forward just enough to keep it from cutting out completely while still making the landing.
“That engine doesn’t sound good,” Tyler said.
“It’s been acting up more and more lately. Joel says it needs some new sparkplugs,” I said as I pulled the plane to a stop in the middle of the bridge so that I could take off in either direction at a moment’s notice.
“He’s been busy with Humvee Three, and that’s his first priority right now. But I’ll ask him to take a look,” Tyler said.
“Yeah, I figured that.” After double-checking to make sure everything was powered off, I set my headset on the dash and unbuckled.
“Rise and shine, Grizzly Bear,” Jase said, and I heard Griz grumble something unintelligible.
Tyler smirked, grabbed his bag, and climbed out of the plane. I grabbed my backpack and rifle. Before I opened my door, I gla
nced back at the red five-gallon jugs filled with emergency av-gas to make sure they were still bungeed together in the baggage compartment, and then headed outside. Jase and Griz followed.
Griz stretched under the sun while I locked the Cessna’s doors and turned to Tyler. “We’re all set. Barring any big change in weather, we should easily make it back to the park without having to refuel.” I thought for a moment. “I miss getting the weather forecasts. They sure did come in handy with flight planning.”
“I kind of prefer the lack of news,” he said as he pulled out his sword. “It was always sensationalizing the bad things.”
“I’ll check out the area to the east,” Griz said. “I need to stretch my legs.”
“I’ll go with you,” Jase offered, and the two sauntered off with their weapons drawn.
I started to head in the opposite direction.
“Weather reports were inaccurate as much as they were accurate,” Tyler said. “I miss pizza delivery more.”
I chuckled. “I miss pizza, too.”
We both quickly sobered. It was no fun dwelling on things that we could never have again. We all had a trigger that brought everything we’d lost to mind. Shaking off memories of loved ones I’d never see again, I scanned the distance in silence, looking for any zeds that might have heard the airplane and come to investigate. The bridge and rural highway had no cars for as far as my eyes could see. This area was rural enough that it didn’t have the telltale scars of wreckage and bodies that populated areas had.
The sun glistened off the blade a trader had given Tyler in exchange for penicillin. It was a nice weapon but it’d be far too heavy for me. I preferred my lighter weapons: the spear I’d made from an old broom handle, a machete from our first looting run in Chow Town, and a large tanto knife Clutch had given me right after the outbreak.
I checked my M24 rifle. We’d been through plenty together, and it bore as many scars as I did. Tiny scratches marred the black metal from a grenade blast that I’d never expected to survive.
“You look sad,” Tyler said. “What’s wrong?”
“My poor rifle has seen its share of abuse,” I answered.
“We all have,” he said softly.
I pointed to a gouge on the barrel that had shown up sometime between the time I was imprisoned at Camp Fox and when I got the rifle back. “This one wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t thrown me behind bars.”
He raised his brows. “Seriously? You’re still beating me up over that?”
“Always,” I replied. “After all, no one forced you to arrest me.”
“I did it to save you from the Dogs,” he said, referring to the Iowa militia. “Besides, you did break the law. No matter how you look at it, killing someone is still breaking the law.”
“Hmph. You and I both know that scumbag Dog had it coming for what he’d done to that poor girl.”
He nodded. “Maybe. But that wasn’t for you to decide. You took away his right to a fair trial. I’m not saying he wasn’t guilty and didn’t deserve what he got. I’m just saying it wasn’t the right way to go about it.”
I could’ve brought up the young girl the accused had raped and beaten, but Tyler had heard it all before, and he still refused to budge from his stance on traditional justice. After the outbreak, I’d reverted to an “eye for an eye” brand of justice because mistakes and crimes committed now nearly always caused someone’s death. We didn’t have the time or resources for a full court system anymore.
“At least it was one fewer Dog to attack Camp Fox,” I said instead. “But that’s all water under the bridge now,” I said, watching a sizable tree limb float down the river.
“I agree. I’m glad things worked out and that you decided to stay with Camp Fox.” Tyler shaded his eyes as he looked down the river. “No sign of the riverboat yet.”
Tyler had reached this guy Sorenson on the radio a month or so ago by sheer luck. He spent twenty minutes every day scanning all the AM, marine, and aeronautical frequencies. One day, they had both been scanning and reporting across the same marine frequencies at the same time. It was through Tyler’s diligence that we’d connected with the folks in Marshall as well as several tiny groups scattered across the area. Sadly, for every settlement he reached, he seemed to lose contact with another.
Of all Tyler’s contacts, Sorenson was best equipped to survive the herd migration. He was a riverboat captain and, since zeds couldn’t swim, anyone who could navigate the rivers had done pretty well since the outbreak.
Tyler believed Camp Fox had found an ally in Sorenson.
I was doubtful. There was a big difference between talking on the radio and asking Sorenson if he’d take another sixty mouths to feed onto his boat. That’s why we’d flown all the way here today—to beg Sorenson to add Camp Fox to his crew. Temporarily, of course.
After turning around and heading back toward the plane and across the painted X on the bridge, my stomach growled. I pulled out a plastic bag filled with jerky. Without freezers, all lean meat was made into jerky. Jerky and nuts comprised our protein staples on scouting runs. I chewed on a piece and held the bag out to Tyler, who grabbed one.
“Any thoughts on a backup plan to our backup plan?” I asked. “Just in case Sorenson doesn’t come through.”
“Besides running?” Tyler sighed and then shook his head. “No. We really need Sorenson to come through.”
“Even if he does let everyone from Camp Fox hop a ride until the herds pass through, it’s still a three-hour-plus drive over here, best-case scenario. Longer with the roadblocks we’ve marked on the maps.” With the Cessna, I could only bring a couple people with supplies at a time. I’d never be able to transport everyone before the herds reached our latitude.
If today fell through, my assignment was to fly over potential routes and mark any roadblocks and herds on the maps. Even then, driving a convoy full of people and livestock in any direction was a dangerous plan. We’d surely draw out any zeds in the area.
Griz and Jase met up with us at the plane. “All clear to the east,” Griz said, snatching a piece of jerky from my bag.
Jase grabbed the entire bag and dug in.
“Same to the west,” Tyler said. “If the engine noise didn’t draw any in, we shouldn’t have anything beyond the random grazer to worry about today. Sorenson picked a good area. I can see for miles in every direction.”
An engine noise in the distance snapped all of our attention to the river. Shading my eyes, I searched for the source of the sound.
“Over there.” Jase pointed to the southeast.
I followed his finger and saw a white deck boat coming out from behind an island of trees and toward us.
As the boat approached, I could make out four men. They pulled to a stop where an aluminum extension ladder had been securely chained to the bridge.
A muscled man grabbed a hold of the ladder while a man with weathered skin motioned toward us. “Come on down. We’re here to take you to meet Captain Sorenson.”
Tyler didn’t move. “I was under the impression that Sorenson was coming here to meet me.”
The man shook his head. “You’re meeting Captain Sorenson on the Lady Amore today. We’ve all seen the herds. He can’t risk leaving the boat anymore. Now, we’re burning gas. Are you coming or not?”
Tyler shot each of us a look before turning back to the men on the boat. “Yes, we’re coming, though I don’t appreciate the change in plans.”
Griz took the lead down the insanely long ladder, and I followed, noticing that the ladder was actually three extension ladders fastened together with chains. It would be no fun for anyone scared of heights, like me. My muscles were tight, and I gripped too hard with each rung I descended.
One of the men helped me off the ladder at the bottom, and I looked up to see Tyler sliding his sword into its sheath. I stood off to the side, ready to pull out my machete in an instant if anyone tried to injure Tyler. After all, Captain Tyler Masden wasn’t just the com
manding officer of Camp Fox, he was its face. Clutch was a better strategist and a stronger leader, but he lacked Tyler’s finesse in working with people. If something happened to Tyler, morale—which was thread-thin already—would snap.
Tyler climbed down, with Jase right behind him. One man motioned Griz and me to sit up front. As I walked past the boat pilot, I noticed the rifle propped next to him, and I swallowed. We’d have run out of ammunition months ago if I hadn’t found Doyle’s stash of old military surplus.
Once we all sat down, the driver throttled the boat forward gently, and we pulled away from the bridge and headed toward the small island. With every minute, I felt farther and farther away from Camp Fox.
Over a half hour later, the boat curved around the northern edge of a small island, and a riverboat casino came into view. It was still a good ways off, a mile or so at least, and our boat pilot seemed to be in no hurry, burning precious daylight.
As we neared the Lady Amore, my eyes widened. The riverboat casino was massive, yet perfectly hidden from anyone—or anything—on land and from air. Our boat rocked gently as it pulled up alongside the riverboat which was filled with people watching us from the deck above. At least six of those people had rifles pointed right at us.
Chapter VII
“The password?” a white-haired man—who looked like the fellow on the cover of frozen-fish boxes—called out from the deck above.
“Mae West had nice tits,” the man who’d spoken to us at the bridge yelled out.
“That password is correct, Otto. You all may come on board.” Sorenson motioned to the armed people with him. “Lower your weapons. Everything’s clear.”
“His own guys have to use a password?” I muttered.
“Every time we have newcomers,” the man named Otto replied. “It’s a safety precaution in case we’re being coerced into bringing bandits on board.”
“It’s smart,” Tyler said as he came to his feet.
