The Departing (The End Time Saga Book 4)

by Daniel Greene

  “I hope to reconvene on the matter in the morning.”

  “We will talk then.”

  The pastor bowed his head slightly. Peter gave Steele a dark stare, and when Steele returned the look, Peter turned away like a whipped dog. The men left the room, creaking down the stairs.

  Gunshots echoed outside the building. Steele grabbed his M4, leaning over the couch to get a look at the outside. His men shot the dead that wandered onto the main street of the town.

  Tess appeared alongside him, angling herself to get a better look. “There are so many more the further south we go.” Forms fell in the street, blackish blood leaking from their bodies.

  “I expected as much. We are driving from the jaws of one enemy into the teeth of another.”

  A rap on the door drew their attention away from the sporadic gunfire on the street. “Come in,” Steele called. Kevin’s head poked in the door.

  “Thought we could pass some time the old-fashioned way while we wait for the motorcycle clubs.” He showed them a bottle of the Madam Scarlet Grey’s Whiskey. “Grant’s favorite.”

  Steele smiled for the first time that he could remember. “Ahh, the good stuff.”

  “The best rye,” Kevin said excitedly. He sat down in a chair at a half kitchen table lined up on the wall. He inspected the former occupants’ shelves, removing drink glasses. “These will do.” He blew in one and dust puffed up in a small cloud.

  Steele couldn’t help but smile at the man. Kevin always knew how to lighten the mood. He set the glasses on an old kitchen table and poured the mahogany liquid into them.

  Kevin picked up a glass and held it close to his face, sniffing the alcohol. “I know Ms. Tess will take a glass.”

  “That she will,” Tess said.

  Kevin cupped the glasses together, pouring the whiskey into each of them. He handed the partially filled glasses to his patrons.

  Steele swirled the booze around in his glass, letting it coat the sides. Kevin slurped some of his down.

  “Something on your mind, big fella?”

  Steele continued to swirl. “Ha. I got a lot of things on my mind.”

  “Care to lighten your load?”

  Steele gulped down some of the brown-gold whiskey. “Pastor wants us to hit the road and leave the Eighters and Geminis behind. The rest of the bikers are at each other’s throats and are tied to us by a single thread.” He took another sip, eyeing Kevin. “They may desert us before they fight for us.” He rested the glass on the arm of the couch. “It’s clear we can’t trust the pastor, and with our forces spread out, he’s running the majority in this camp.” He flexed his hand, making a weak fist.

  Kevin whistled and slurped some more whiskey from his glass. “Sounds like a right old mess.”

  “And he’s worried about Gwen,” Tess chimed in.

  Steele gave Tess a glare. “Thanks for reminding me.” He held his glass up sarcastically. “Good times.” He downed a fraction of his drink.

  “Mmmm, before I forget.” Kevin held up a hand. He produced a worn brown book with yellowing pages. When he opened it, the spine of the book rasped with the effort.

  “What’s that? Another history book?”

  An intoxicated smile stretched on Kevin’s lips. “You betcha. A good one too.” He held it closer to his eyes and read the spine and tapped it with his finger. “The Life of General Daniel Morgan. Looks to be an original too,” he said excitedly. He turned the book in Steele’s direction. The brown cover was beautifully embossed with twisted foliage surrounding four smooth rectangles brought together in the center with a shield-covered American bald eagle.

  “Revolutionary War?” Steele asked, the name ringing a bell in the back of his mind.

  “None other. Won some pretty important battles for us with some of the more innovative tactics of his day. You should take a read. Maybe you’ll learn something useful.” He leaned over and handed the book to Steele. The book had a decent weight to it. He flipped through the musty pages with care not to damage any. He held it up at Kevin. “Thanks. When I get a free minute, I’ll take a look.” He stuffed the book into his pack and he weighed the pros and cons of the extra weight.

  “Just my two cents, but you should wait for the bikers. It could be the pastor’s way of putting a wedge between you and the clubs.” Kevin took a sip of his whiskey. “Not to mention the loss in manpower.”

  Tess lounged on the couch as if it were her pad. “Fuck the Chosen. Let ’em leave. We don’t need them.”

  “As much as I’d rather them not be here, they have agreed to fight against Jackson. And I want these people close, not roaming around the corner waiting to sucker-punch us.”

  Tess’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t trust them.”

  Steele threw the rest of his drink back. “That makes two of us.”

  “Another?” Kevin said, raising the bottle in the air.

  “Why not? Definitely making my arm feel better.”

  Kevin stood up and poured Steele another drink. His hand shook while he poured.

  “You all right?”

  Kevin gave him a quick smile, his eyes drooping. “Nothing that another glass can’t fix.”

  Steele nodded. His friend’s drinking was on the last rung of his concerns. Whatever got the man through to the next day, even if it was copious amounts of alcohol that made him wake up in the morning. They could have that conversation later. Nearby gunfire suppressed empathy for his friend. He snagged up his carbine by the pistol grip and spun over onto his knees. He sank into the deformed cushions and peered out the window below.

  Filthy gore-stained hands beat the doors of the brick building across from him. People stared from above. Steele waved to them and showed them his carbine. Tess leaned over and shoved the window up, and Steele laid his carbine over the couch and the barrel out the window.

  With one hand, he zeroed in on the infected. Same as always big fella. Nice and easy on the trigger. Don’t think, just let the trigger come back. Crack. The downward angled shot entered the back of the skull like something had tapped really hard on its head. The bullet sprayed the infected’s chin onto the doorframe. It collapsed onto the door smearing brain matter as gravity pulled it down the front of the door.

  “Nice shot,” Tess said.

  “Not bad for the old worthless left hand of mine.” He turned back to Kevin. “Feels good to get behind the trigger.”

  “I bet,” Kevin said, nervously taking a sip of his drink.

  Steele lined up his red dot on the other infected, his confidence growing. At least this forces me to practice with my off-hand. Crack. The other dropped. Steele looked up at the people across the way. He didn’t recognize them, probably Chosen, but they gave him a thumbs-up.

  Motorcycles zipped down the street. They only slowed to avoid the bodies in the streets. Steele’s heart leapt for a moment thinking they were the Eighters or Geminis, but these riders had black wolves as their club colors. Macleod’s club. They rounded the street engines roaring.

  “They came back in a hurry,” Tess said.

  “They did.” Steele snagged up his radio. “Macleod, what’s your status?” He waited a moment before he repeated himself. “Macleod, status?”

  “Ah, me and my boys are getting elevated. We got a pretty thick group of them coming up from the southeast.”

  “How many is that?”

  “Five hundred or so. Hard to tell, they all kinda look the same and were packed together.”

  “Copy.”

  Macleod was silent, but he could see the man riding hard down the street.

  Steele turned to Kevin. “I need you to spread the word down the street. We aren’t all connected with comms and I don’t want anyone caught off guard. I’ll make sure all the biker chiefs and the pastor knows. Tess, can you get Margie and her team up here with me?”

  Kevin belched.

  Tess gave him a disgusted look and ran down the steps.

  “Sure thingy,” Kevin slurred. He stood with a
waver and steadied himself on a chair for a moment before he made for the stairs.

  Steele watched as Kevin stumbled onto the street. He pounded on a door. “The infected are coming,” he yelled up at the people inside. He tottered for a moment like a child learning to walk for the first time and wobbled for the next building.

  Heads poked out the windows of the two- and three-story buildings making up the main street. Heads were replaced with guns propped on windowsills.

  “Commanders, this is Steele. We have a large group of infected coming our way. Get your people elevated and ready for an attack.”

  “We’ll get them moving,” Peter sounded off.

  Others answered back in acknowledgment of a threat. Steele held the radio near his mouth for a moment.

  Someone knocked on his open door. Margie stood there as if she waited for permission to enter his room. Her eyebrows always made her look worried, but her eyes had changed and now held a certain fierceness, like a mother bear getting ready to defend her cubs.

  “Come in. Come in.” He waved her inside.

  “Sorry, Captain. Ms. Tess said to come up, but we didn’t want to bother you.” The mother almost looked embarrassed.

  Steele gave her an irritated glance. “I’m not a captain. Get your crew set up. Are Trent and Larry up with their teams?” He had split his volunteers into small fire teams with a senior volunteer as their lead.

  “Yes, Captain. Trent and Larry’s teams are up,” she said. She looked over at her volunteers. “Boys. Rick, Tony, and Harvey.” Three Sable Pointers followed her inside. Rick and Tony had AR-15s, and Harvey had an old Remington Model 700 bolt-action rifle. They were all adult men in their late thirties, early forties. The men over ten years his senior nodded in respect to Steele as they entered.

  “Captain,” they said as they passed him. Steele wanted to bang his head against a wall, but some battles just weren’t worth fighting.

  “Volunteers,” Steele said with a nod. Why fight them on something that gives them hope? It gives them an identity. Units need an identity. The men opened windows and pointed their guns onto the street, directed by Margie.

  Steele pointed with this good hand. “They’re going to be coming from that direction.”

  “That’s perfect,” Margie said with a smile. “Me and my boys can handle it.” She took the closest position, resting her rifle barrel on the wooden frame of the window. She sighted her rifle.

  Rick had brown curly hair and smiled. He whispered as if he worried the enemy would hear him. “She’s the best shot.”

  Steele smirked. “I know she is. Lucky to have her.”

  Rick put his AR-15 up to his shoulder resting his stubbly cheek against the stock. “We agree.”

  They waited. Fifteen minutes later, Kevin stomped up the steps. “I saw them. They’re here,” he heaved. “You’re lucky you got a bum leg or I would have made you do the run.” He sat in a chair and poured himself another drink. He mumbled something into his drink. “You owe me a few at this point.”

  “I wish I could,” Steele said.

  Margie’s hunting rifle cracked as a round exploded from its barrel. She pulled the bolt-action back and placed another brass-cased round in the chamber, sliding the bolt back in place.

  “Get ready, boys.” She zeroed in again. Boom. “‘Cause here they come.”

  GWEN

  Reynolds Farm, IA

  Her grandmother, wielding a spoon like a dangerous weapon, gave her a disapproving look. Her grandfather sat at the parlor card table next to her and smirked trying to avoid eye contact with either woman.

  Gwen placed her hands overtop her hips. “I’m not going.”

  “Oh, Gwen. Don’t be such a stick in the mud. It’ll be fun,” Gram said.

  Gwen’s adamant tone turned to an irritated, endearing one. “Gram, there are people dying out there, and you want me to go to a town dance. Do you realize how insensitive that sounds?”

  Gram’s brow lined with wrinkles. “Nonsense. Who said you can’t have fun during the tough times?” She raised her eyebrows in a declaration. “Me and Pa are going.”

  Pa looked up from his checkerboard and gave a short nod. His hand drifted to the board and he eyed little Haley. He picked a red piece up and set it back down. Gwen’s phantom blond boy sat next to her grandfather, his hands beneath his cherubic chin while watching him play. It gave her anxiety knowing he wasn’t real yet was still a part of her world.

  Pa shook his head. “No, that won’t do.” He picked up another and set it back down. “Nope.”

  “Come on, Grandpa,” Haley whined. The little girl squirmed as she waited, unable to see her phantom cousin sitting nearby.

  Will she live long enough to know him? Will I? She steadied herself, trying not to be overcome with emotion.

  He held up a red checker at Haley. “You must have patience, my dear.” He clicked it over the board. Click. Click. “King me.”

  “Oh, come on,” Haley said, exacerbated. She picked up a red piece and put it on her great-grandfather’s. Haley picked up a black piece and jumped it once, twice, three times over her opponents.

  “That’s a triple bouncer,” Haley exclaimed. She wiggled her head back and forth in a celebratory manner.

  “What a fool.” Pa smacked his forehead in mock disbelief. “No matter what I do, you’re always two steps ahead, my dear.”

  “That’s cause I’m smart and you’re bad at this.” She stuck her tongue out at him.

  “Put that tongue back in your mouth or I’ll snatch it,” he half-threatened. He raised a hand in the air, pinching his thumb together with his index finger like a crab. “Just like your nose.” The older man moved quick for his age. He brought his hand up to her face and squeezed her nose, pretending to snatch it away all of a sudden.

  He held his hand up with his thumb wedged between his index and middle fingers. “See?”

  Haley brought her hand to her face, feeling to make sure her nose was still there. “Nuh-uh, grandpa. I still got mine.”

  He opened his mouth and threw the invisible nose in. “Gone forever.” He twisted his hand in front of his mouth as if he were locking it up tight.

  Gwen laughed. Becky leaned over the table. “Well, I’m going to the dance. There’s bound to be at least one man worth a damn in these parts.”

  Gram didn’t look very pleased. “You’re a mother, Becky. Language.”

  Becky rolled her eyes. “Maybe some of your friends want to go, Gwen.” Her grandma nodded with encouragement.

  Gwen gave her a glare. “Oh, my God. Fine. I’ll ask them.” She let the screened storm door swing closed behind her as she walked outside to the barn. Gregor had circled the vehicles around the barn to provide them with some sort of perimeter in case of an attack from the dead. She had felt guilty staying inside the house when her people had been stuck outside, but they insisted, considering her pregnancy. A tidbit of information that her family didn’t know yet and a conversation she was actively avoiding.

  Hank sat on a chair outside the barn. “Hi, Hank,” she said on the way in. “Everything going all right?”

  Hank managed a half-smile. “Slept better on the ground in a barn than I have in months in a camper. Just feels safer, ya know?”

  “Yeah, I do. Remember, the infected are still around here. I killed one a few days ago.”

  The man gave her a half-smile that faded away in the realization he could never fully relax again. “I know.”

  She walked inside. Families had outfitted the stalls normally used for animals with blankets and tarps to give themselves extra privacy. The Clemens had even hung up a little sign that read their name on it.

  People waved at her and made small talk with one another.

  “Hiya, Gwen,” Freddy said. The small boy ran up to Gwen and gave her a big hug.

  “Hi, Freddy. You give such good hugs.” She squeezed him tight.

  Harriet stood near a stall gate and watched the boy, sadly smiling. “He’s always
been a lover.” Gwen patted the boy’s back and Freddy ran off.

  “That’s the happiest I’ve seen him since this all happened, and look,” Harriet gestured with her chin over her shoulder. Char sat in a corner of the stall reading a book. “Your grandfather gave it to her.”

  Gwen couldn’t help but smile. “What is it?”

  “Grapes of Wrath,” Harriet said, turning her head to watch the girl. “Not the most uplifting of stories, but I think she can find some commonality with her current situation.”

  “Say, what do you think?” Gwen paused, contemplating for a moment that she was even considering suggesting they all go to a dance.

  Harriet’s eyes turned questioning. “Yes?”

  “Sorry. It’s hard for me to think that this is a good idea, but there’s a dance in town tonight. There’ll be a band and everyone gets together.”

  Gwen read Harriet’s brown eyes, looking for some indication that she was either an idiot for suggesting such a thing or a genius for finding something for them to do.

  “Yes, Gwen.” Harriet nodded. “Yes,” she looked back at Char. “That’s a great idea, music.” Harriet sighed and she put a hand over her chest as tears filled her eyes. “Music. Instead of crying and moaning. That is a fantastic idea.”

  Gwen laughed. “I. Wow.” She gave a sigh. “For a moment, I thought you were going to jump all over me for being insensitive, but you’re right. We could use a distraction from all the chaos. And I haven’t heard the sweet strum of a banjo-” She stopped herself. Images of Puck and the moonshiners back in West Virginia flashed through her mind. Puck’s huge hands. Ashley’s laugh. Casey’s mean sneer. Lucia’s dirty face. Gwen felt like she couldn’t breathe. Lucia’s lifeless face stared at her in her daydream. She couldn’t inhale as the images stole the precious oxygen from her lungs.

  “Are you okay?” Harriet asked, reaching out for her.

  Gwen breathed hard as she came back to, feeling like she had run a sprint. “I’m sorry.” Gwen shook her head. “A dance will be nice,” she said slowly. Gwen gave Harriet a weak smile and walked to the middle of the barn. She had to shake the horrible memories from her mind.