“Get going then. The sooner you’re out there, the sooner you can get back. And try to take a good runner with you if you can, just in case you need to send a message back to us.”
“Will do.” And with that, Doyle slipped out of the room containing the creepy boy.
He thought to look for Freya first. She was an avid reader and would probably enjoy having more books on hand, as well as being a great person to have watching your back. Unfortunately, she also proved exceptionally difficult to locate. He thought about asking Robin, but it was probably best that all the doctors stay home, especially with the appearance of the boy and all the patients visiting from the container yard. Doyle tried to find the rest of the people with whom he had survived the Day; he trusted them the most. Like the majority of people who had survived without Keystone’s help, he felt closer to those people who had endured with him. Unfortunately, a good portion of them had moved to the container yard, including Harry, Elizabeth, and Cynthia. Quin, the old rock star, was still here but he wasn’t a good candidate for this mission. Not only was his body failing him because of his age and rough treatment, but he had never been all that well equipped to handle the zombies in the first place.
It took a while, but Doyle finally found his first volunteer: Canary. Her real name was Ophelia, but she had never been fond of it. When Robin admitted that she used to think of the young woman as the canary, thanks to her blonde hair and willingness to go into places first, she had jumped at the chance and had encouraged the nickname’s use. Now, more people knew her as Canary than those who knew her real name.
“I’d love to come,” she replied to Doyle’s request, even after being told what all the risks were. “It’d be nice to see something outside these fences again.”
When they had first moved to the Black Box, several scavenging teams frequently went out, but since then, there wasn’t as much of a need. People from the container yard were always giving them found goods in exchange for the crops they grew, and everything else they needed was inside the barriers.
While Canary went off to get her gear, Doyle searched for one more volunteer. He was a bit surprised when it turned out to be James Brenner.
“Crichton told me what you were up to,” he said with shrug. “I’d like to come, if that’s all right.”
“Sure. Any particular reason for wanting to come?”
“I’d like to see for myself if there’s anyone else out there. Also, being honest, I’d like to get away from some of these people for a bit.”
That surprised Doyle even more. “I thought you liked everyone here?”
“No, I get along with everyone, there’s a difference. It’s just…” James paused, considering what words to use next. “Since the Day, I’ve been helping people survive. Every day for eleven years. Trust me, it wears on you. This will be like a mini vacation for me. With fewer than a handful of people, and all of them capable of taking care of themselves? It’ll be nice.”
Doyle nodded and agreed to let him come. How could he not? James was right when he said he took care of everyone. He got people to safety on the Day, organized a rebellion against Marble Keystone, helped get loads of survivors to the Diana, ran the off-shipper teams once there, and now directed their internal defences; their pseudo police force, fire teams, and doctors, all reported to him on roughly a daily basis. And despite that, people still came directly to him with various questions and problems. He had never been at the very top of the command chain, but was always right beneath it, keeping things running smoothly and doling out advice.
“It’ll be great to have you,” Doyle told him honestly. “Based on my current luck finding a volunteer, it’ll probably be just us and Canary. Pack as light as you can and we’ll meet by the truck.”
“Thanks for this,” James clapped him briefly on the shoulder and then turned away to get his gear.
Having two volunteers he could both trust and find, Doyle went to prep his own gear. He would bring food and water for four days, just in case, but not much else. He wanted as much room as possible in his rucksack for books, as well as any other useful items they might find. Once he was ready to go, he headed out.
The truck was a broken down long hauler, with busted tires and all sorts of detritus piled up underneath. It hadn’t worked since the day they positioned it as part of their fence, siphoned out the remaining gas, and deliberately crippled the massive vehicle. Even the gap between the trailer and the cab had been filled with old bricks and rocks removed from the planting fields. Still, it continued to be useful in that it made a distinguished marker along the fence, and was also the easiest place to pass through. As Doyle approached the truck, he spotted Rose sitting on the footboard. There was a backpack at her feet.
“Um,” he pointed at the bag.
“I’m comin’ with you,” Rose told him as she stood up.
“You really think that?”
“I know that.”
Doyle looked directly at her shorter arm, the one that didn’t make it out from her long-sleeved shirt.
Rose sighed, annoyed. “You’re just goin’ to the bookstore for a day or two. I understand all the dangers that might be out there, and I can take care of myself. I used to do this job all the time, remember?”
“Isn’t that how you lost your hand in the first place? Isn’t your accident why you decided to stay here instead of going to the container yard? Because it was safer?”
“I feel useless here.”
“I see you helping out all the time.”
“Kids can do what I do,” she snapped angrily. She shuffled and turned in place, her eyes darting around as she tried to find something to focus on. It looked like she had more to say, but was trying to figure out how to say it. “I know it’s not safe out there,” she started tentatively. “I know that better ’n most.” For emphasis, she raised her short arm, the sleeve flopping over her scarred stump. “But you’re goin’ somewhere that people have been before, right? There won’t be any surprisin’ terrain, no climbin’ or nothin’. I have a pistol and a hammer, both of which I can use one-handed should somethin’ come up. The fact is, even if it’s been years, I know what things should look like out there. I’ve done this a lot more than you have. I’ll be able to spot dangers before you can.”
“Just let her come.”
Doyle startled to hear the voice right behind him. James stepped around and stood near Rose.
“She does have valuable experience. And although she can’t communicate in sign as thoroughly as the rest of us, she can still gesture the most important stuff.”
Doyle studied James’ face, trying to determine his reason for letting Rose come with them. In the end, he couldn’t find one, but chose to agree with him.
“Fine, she can come.”
A bright smile lit up Rose’s pixie face as she quickly grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulders. They had to wait only another minute for Canary to show up.
“Sorry I’m late,” she beamed, sweeping her hair back from her face and expertly tying it up in a bun. “I was getting some book recommendations from a few people.”
“All right, then I guess we’re all ready to go.” Doyle brought the walkie-talkie to his lips and relayed the information Crichton wanted. Crichton gave him the go ahead, and wished them luck.
Stepping up on the footboard, Doyle knocked on the passenger side window of the cab. After a few seconds, a sleepy bedhead appeared in the window, looking out at him. Upon seeing Doyle’s face, the man nodded, unlocked the door, and backed away. One by one, Doyle’s party climbed up into the truck, passed over the front seats, then climbed out on the other side after unlocking the door. Doyle hung back for a moment to drop off the walkie-talkie.
“Any book requests, Clive?”
“No.” Clive took the walkie-talkie from Doyle without looking directly at him and placed it on a charger in the back of the truck. The rear of the cab accommodated a small bed and a hot plate that ran off of solar panels set up on the
trailer’s roof, same as the chargers. There were also several small compartments carefully packed with various items. Clive lived in the back of the truck’s cab, away from the general population. Doyle didn’t know what was wrong with him, or whether it was something that had affected him even before the Day, but he understood not to look directly at Clive. The man seemed to be afraid of all people and could interact with them for only short periods of time. He kept an odd sleeping schedule—if you could even call it a schedule—and left the truck simply to relieve himself in a hole near the back of the trailer. Working as a gatekeeper allowed him to be useful, while respecting his need to be alone. He scarcely interacted with people; on occasion when someone dropped off food and water, he’d make an appearance, but mostly he let him or her just leave it outside.
“We should only be gone for a day or two. I’ll knock four times when we’re back, okay?”
“Okay.”
And with those few words spoken between them, Doyle exited through the driver’s side, its window reinforced with chicken wire. As he stepped onto the road beyond their fences, he felt a gust when Clive swung the door shut behind him and heard the thunk of the lock sliding into place. Doyle found he couldn’t quite remember the last time he had been beyond the fences.
***
Nothing really looked like it once did. Some of the same lines still existed—the edges of buildings, roads, street poles, signs—but they had all been softened. Grass and weeds forced their way up through the cracks, widening them. Trees and bushes grew out of control where once they had been trimmed back, swallowing power lines that had managed to hang on and obscuring street names. Here and there ivy had managed to take hold on a brick wall, and other walls had crumbled under one force or another. A surprising number of windows had managed to remain intact, becoming cloudy and obscure with the dirt, dust, and sand that was repeatedly blown into them. Others had given up, cracking and shattering into jagged points. Old trash and masses of leaves filled the gutters, while still more clung to the bases of buildings and filled doorways. Large branches from storm-battered trees, and occasionally entire trees, remained where they had fallen. There was no one left who cared about cleaning it all up.
“Highway or railroad?” James asked as they headed along a road leading away from the fences.
“Railroad,” Doyle told him. “The highway is too dangerous for a group this small, and we don’t have any carts.”
“Sounds good.” James seemed quite content to let Doyle make the decisions. No doubt he would step up if Doyle were to make a stupid one, but Doyle liked to think that that wouldn’t happen.
A couple of minutes later, they arrived at the train tracks and peeled off the road to follow them. Doyle felt more comfortable on the old rail lines than he did on the roads. Abandoned, weed-choked rails had been a staple in several communities even before the zombies screwed everything up. Unlike the roads with their decaying vehicles, they felt more natural. They had become part of the landscape far quicker; even animals used them as trails to get from place to place, wary of the roads. Doyle felt they should learn from the animals in that regard. The chances of running into a gang of humans was hopefully lower in the woods or on the rails, because people often followed their road maps when they didn’t know the area. Zombie encounters had also proven to be less likely. Some of them probably had just enough intelligence left to understand that the roads were easier for them to shuffle along. Those in the woods were often discovered well in advance due to their constant tripping, falling, and snapping of dead branches. That’s not to say the woods were completely safe. They hid dangerous animals, and zombies who weren’t moving weren’t easy to spot. Their rot provided a sort of camouflage against the pebbled tree bark. The ones who had proven to be the most dangerous were the zombies who had somehow wound up beneath a car, or lying on the ground where a drift of leaves concealed them.
“How long has it been since everyone’s been outside the fences?” Doyle wondered, keeping his voice to a whisper. In the quiet, it easily reached all the ears within the small group who stuck as closely together as they could.
“Last time you went out, I think,” Canary whispered back. “What was it, seven months ago?”
“Something like that.”
“I was technically outside the fence earlier today,” James told them, “when I went to help Abby bring in that kid.”
“What about before that?”
“A couple of weeks ago. Some of us went to a nearby building to strip it for fence material, although we weren’t gone long, just a couple of hours.”
“Rose? What about you?”
“I’ve never been outside the fences here,” she admitted. She sounded sad, but thankfully unafraid. Although she was in new territory, she clearly trusted the team she was with and didn’t seem nervous.
Doyle nodded, thinking that maybe they should start sending parties out more often. It would be good if everyone knew the area outside their fences, and not just what it looked like on a map. He decided he’d bring it up with Crichton once they returned to the Black Box.
They proceeded slowly along the old rail line, taking their time. This wasn’t an emergency trip and so they could proceed as cautiously as they liked. Doyle and James stepped on the slowly rotting wooden ties, the tall weeds that had pushed up through the gravel brushing against their legs. Canary and Rose were more elven-like, balancing along the rusting, metal tracks, both of them looking younger, closer to the age they had been when this all started. Watching her smile over at Canary, revealing all her teeth and a lot of her gums, Doyle was glad he had consented to bringing Rose along.
After some time, they reached the edge of the forest, where the ground sloped away through a marshy patch before reaching the river and the bridge that spanned it. The girls stepped down off the rails that changed from being laid on the ground, to being held up by beams. The whole group paused as Doyle pulled out a pair of binoculars with which to scan the far side of the river, especially the swampy bit of land that mirrored the one before them. Zombies were often spotted stuck in bogs.
“Mind if I take a look when you’re done?” James whispered.
“Not at all.” Doyle handed the binoculars over. “I didn’t see anything, but it’s always good to double check.”
James took longer scanning the area, perhaps searching for some small sign of the boy’s path. Doyle didn’t think he’d find anything. Based on where the kid was found, he hadn’t come from this direction.
“We good?”
James nodded, but kept his eyes pressed to the rubber eyepieces a moment longer. Doyle pulled his axe out of its carrier and started crossing the bridge. He moved even slower than he had through the woods. He tapped the butt of his axe against each board several times before he moved onto it. They were always worried that the bridge would give out one day, and so Doyle proceeded with an extra modicum of caution. The others followed closely behind him, keeping a constant look out. Unlike the highway bridge just up the river, there wasn’t really anywhere to hide along the railway bridge’s length. It was entirely open to the middle, where a metal structure that raised and lowered a section of the bridge for ships to pass under offered a little bit of protection. The openness worked favourably in that if it looked clear, odds were it was; however, it also meant there wasn’t any place for them to hide should a threat appear. Their options were to go forward, backward, risk taking a swim, or worse, getting stuck in the marsh, so they had to remain alert.
“Can we pause for a second?” James asked when they were halfway across.
Doyle didn’t particularly want to, but he could see that James was going to stop no matter what. He still had the binoculars and was now pointing them up river, scanning the other bridge. Doyle could’ve kept going and let James catch up when he was done, but he didn’t want any gaps in the party as they crossed. Instead, he pressed himself up against one of the metal support beams they had reached, it being the only thing that might prov
ide any sort of cover. Snipers were always a worry.
“See something that caught your eye?” Canary wondered.
“A few zombies. Fresh ones, by the looks of it. They all have backpacks on.”
“You sure they’re zombies?” Doyle asked,worried.
“Pretty sure. Take a look.” James handed the field glasses back.
Following James’ guidance, it didn’t take long for Doyle to find what he had been looking at. James was right: they looked an awful lot like zombies from what he could make out. There were maybe a dozen of them, weaving, shuffling, staggering around the few cars over there, occasionally bumping into them. Their backpacks looked heavy, threatening to push the zombies onto their faces, or pull them over backward.
“If they are humans, they’re insanely drunk,” Doyle commented.
“Should we intercept them?” Rose wondered. “There’s probably some good stuff in those packs.”
Doyle actually waited for James to answer, before he realized it was his decision. “If we do, we’ll lose the rest of the day and have to set out again tomorrow. The rotters will probably find their way to the fences, and then the guards there can take care of them and loot their stuff. We’ll press on to the bookstore.”
“You got it,” James accepted his decision easily, pressing on across the bridge and using the butt of his rifle in the same manner that Doyle had been using his axe. Still, Doyle caught him glancing toward the other bridge several times.
“What are you thinking about?” Doyle asked him.
“I’m just wondering what happened to them. What would cause several people to die together, backpacks still on their backs? If it were an illness, they wouldn’t likely be geared up. If it were a zombie attack, the horde would have had to be fairly big to have kept them all together, but then where did they shuffle off to? If another human had taken them out, why didn’t he or she take their stuff?”
“Could’ve been gas,” Rose volunteered. “You know, poisonous gas? Or maybe they ran out of food and collapsed close enough together for their corpses to stick by one another. Also, people are crazy. Someone may have killed them for purposes other than takin’ their stuff, you know? We came across some odd stuff when I was an off-shipper.”
Defensive Instinct (Survival Instinct Book 4) Page 11
