Storm Horizon

by Brian Switzer

  "I know you guys won’t let me stay," Hayden said. He talked fast, with a plaintive tone. "I just hope you'll let me leave. Let me walk out here, or blindfold me and drive me a day away if you're afraid I might be a risk. But I swear to God, right now- I don't have any hard feelings towards you guys. We attacked you. If you guys let me leave, I'm not walking out of here looking for revenge. We'll never see each other again."

  Jiri nodded. "I understand what you're saying. But what happens to you isn’t up to me. We have a group that decides things like that, and they will decide what happens to you."

  "Can I speak to this group?"

  Jiri never answered that question. While Hayden pleaded they let him leave, Will stopped pacing and stood behind him. He drew his pistol and placed it a few inches behind the man's head, right at the base of the skull. Will pulled the trigger. Hayden’s body sagged and slumped forward. Chunks of his brain splattered the table in front of him and blood pooled around it.

  The door flew open and Cassandro entered the office with his rifle at his shoulder. He glanced at the body, then looked to Will.

  "Get some help and get rid of that," Will said. "Find out what the Doc did with the rest of his crew and put him there, too." He took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes, then turned to Jiri. "Let's go see if they came up with to keep us from getting overrun," Will said with a sardonic smile.

  "Do you ever think this was easier and less stressful when the twenty of us were out on the road?" Jiri asked.

  Will followed him through the open door. "Only about ten times a day.” They paused and broke out in laughter. Will clapped him on the back and they started the long walk out of the tunnel.

  Thirty-Three

  * * *

  The same people from the earlier get-together regrouped in the same tunnel, with three new additions. Becky and Tara were on hand from Will's team as was Cyrus, a combination mad genius/ detestable troll from Jody’s crew.

  "What'd you come up with?" Will asked Danny in a clipped voice. Before the meeting he rode the perimeter up top and checked with the people on watch duty. They reported heavier creeper traffic than usual. He'd sent men on horseback to watch from the top of the hill south of town. They reported a steady stream of dead leaving, headed north.

  Danny didn't answer. Instead, he tossed Will a can and grinned.

  Will looked it over. It was an empty coffee can with the lid and bottom removed. A length of wax paper with six pencil-sized holes in it covered the bottom. A long hank of rope dangled from its side. He picked at the duct tape holding the rope in place with his thumb. "What the hell is this?"

  Danny’s grin grew wider. “A deer blower.”

  "A deer... " Will began. He trailed off and squinted at the younger man. "You think that'll work?"

  "It was Coy's idea. He said they use them back home all the time."

  "What kind of backwoods cousin-fucking invention is a deer blower?" Cyrus asked in a peevish voice.

  Cyrus Markel stood five feet tall and weighed over 300 pounds. He was the kind of ugly that made people flinch when they walked past. Dirty and smelly even after he invented the makeshift showers, his attitude matched his appearance- whiny, abrasive, and annoying. The community tolerated his faults because he was an engineering genius and the brain behind most of the devices that made their lives safer and more enjoyable.

  Will held the deer blower by its rope for Cyrus to see. "It's a noisemaker. A little cruder than something you'd come up with, but it gets the job done. You hang it in a tree by the rope when the wind blows through the holes in the wax paper it produces a loud, low pitched grunt that sounds like a buck in rut." He handed the blower to Cyrus for his inspection and turned back to Danny. "How are you going to deploy them?"

  "We made six of them. We'll put them out in a rough circle around the quarry, a half-mile out. After that, we need to keep it down for twenty-four hours. No yelling, no gunfire, and no engines. The Doc thinks that will work based on what he's seen of their behavior."

  All eyes turned to Dr. Joseph, who was irritated about leaving his patients again and only half listening. "Hmmm? Oh, yes-the deer blowers. If they are as loud in the field as the one they demonstrated in my office, then they should do the trick nicely. The blowers will distract them and stop their advance. Twenty-four hours is long enough for something else to grab their attention and lead them away. I would suggest sending out teams to put down any stragglers at the end of the twenty-four hour period."

  Cyrus gave a dismissive sniff. "I don't see what all the bother is about. It's not as if the dead will cruise down the hill, across the bottom, and into the tunnels." He held his hands at shoulder-level and waggled his fingers in the air. "As for the ones that walk off the bluff? That happens anyway, and those creepers are never in any shape to get off the ground, much less threaten anybody. Just let them wander around up there until something else catches their attention."

  Will nodded. "It's not that I don't see your point- I had the same thoughts myself. But we send people out there. They hunt in the woods and fields and drive the roads on scavenging trips. The crews in the watchtowers are sitting ducks for a medium-sized herd. In a few weeks, we’ll start our livestock program. Teams will go out every day looking for cows, hogs, and chickens. They can’t succeed if they are fighting off creepers every five minutes." He paused to spit a stream of tobacco juice in a cup and wipe his mouth with his shirtsleeve. "No- we have to clear out the creepers drawn in by the attack. We can’t leave them to wander the woods, and I won’t sit and wonder if today is the day two hundred of them find their way down the hill."

  Cyrus gave a petulant shrug of his shoulders, unable to conceive a point even when the logic behind it was obvious. Will swallowed a biting comment. He needed Cyrus right now, had him working on an important project, and didn't want to get into a pissing match with the man. He looked around the group and held the empty can up at eye level. "This is the best idea you came up with?"

  "Yes, sir," Danny replied. The Judge and Mark backed him up with nods of their heads.

  "Okay. Let's do it." He jabbed his index finger at Danny's chest. "I want big teams making these runs. What is there, six of them? Or six best people each lead a team. Six people in a protective perimeter, one to hang the thing in a tree, and a backup in case a team member goes down. Firearms in emergencies only- it doesn't do us any good to draw away the creepers headed this way, only to attract a new bunch."

  "Teams that big will require sending inexperienced people out," Danny said in a cautious tone.

  "Good. I'm not sure I understand why we still have people with no experience at this point. Isn't that why you hold those training sessions, so the whole community knows how to handle the dead?"

  "Yes, sir. We've only been doing those classes for a few weeks, Will. A lot of people haven’t been through them yet."

  "Man the teams with our crew, plus the people who have gone through the sessions. If there aren’t enough trained people, some folks will get a chance to learn on the job." He spit again and clapped his hands together. "Next item- weapons. We possess twenty military-style rifles." He flashed Terrence a crooked grin. "That's not counting whatever Terrence has in that one-man armory in his Humvee." A burst of laughter came from the rest of the group, and Terrence gave a mock bow.

  "The rifle ammo we took from the base is about gone. Besides the M4s and around the same number of Berettas, we have an assortment of rifles and shotguns folks brought from their homes, and what's left of the ammunition they brought with them. Every scavenging team that leaves here goes out knowing guns are their most important find. We have a big supply of old twenty-two rifles and single shot shotguns, and not nearly enough ammunition for them. Justin and Tess did an inventory and if we had another attack like the one today, we wouldn't be able to defend ourselves.”

  An air of melancholy enveloped the group. When Will looked at them, he saw slumped shoulders and lowered heads.

  Except for the Doc. He wore a sl
ack expression and seemed lost in thought. Will watched him and waited, and after a few moments the old man gazed back, a smile playing on his lips.

  "You want guns? I know where you can get all the guns and ammunition you need."

  Thirty-Four

  * * *

  Hanging the deer blowers cost them a community member. A seventeen-year-old Original named Breck Tilson left his crew to take a leak and walked right into a creeper lurking nearby. He held the creature off valiantly and screamed for help. Tara, his team lead, was only ten feet away when the creeper tour a chunk out of the young man's shoulder.

  In the meeting room, an argument raged over what to do with the dying teen- put him down on the spot, wait for him to turn and put him down, or drive him out in the woods and leave him to choose between killing himself or turning. The disagreement devolved into a shouting match that came close to a brawl. Tara ended the discussion by standing up and banging on the tabletop with a walking stick until everyone gawked at her in wide-eyed silence.

  She stared back at them, white-faced and shaking. "He was on my team. And I'll decide what happens to him."

  There was a long silence until finally Will spoke. "What you want to do, Tara?"

  She pushed her hair away from her eyes and let out a ragged breath. "I'll take him into an empty tunnel and keep him as comfortable as I can. When he gets so sick he can't take it anymore, or when he turns, I'll do what needs done."

  "That settles it, then." Will stood to indicate that the meeting was over. The rest of the attendees rose as well and a line formed at the door to the meeting room.

  Steve Haplett started to leave, then turned back and caught Will's attention. "Do you know Cyrus is out there?" he said, jerking his thumb at the glazed-glass wall.

  "He’s supposed to be. I'm amazed he's on time." He called out to the Judge. "Jody, can you and Jiri stay around, too?"

  "Yes, of course," said the Judge. "I'll find Jiri and tell him."

  "Thanks. You guys hang tight with Cyrus and give me a minute. I'll holler at you." The Judge nodded and departed, leaving Tara the last person by the door.

  "Tara," Will said, his tone soft but commanding, "wait."

  She stiffened. "I don't need a motivational talk right now, Will. No offense."

  "None taken, and that's good because I'm not giving motivational talks today. Come sit a spell."

  Tara's shoulders slumped, and she turned away from the doorway. As she walked toward him, she ran her hand along the top of the long mahogany table. When she reached Will at the head of the table, they both sat.

  She spoke without looking at him. "I used to live my life in meeting rooms like this. Glazed glass, mahogany tables with cherrywood accents, plush carpeting, contemporary art on the wall." She made a noise that was part laughter, part sob. "Who in the hell owned this, anyway?"

  "A beer distributorship. I imagine they used it for executive meetings and to entertain clients." Will waited, and when she finally looked up and met his gaze, her cheeks were streaked with tears. "You never had to worry about anyone dying when you were an entertainment lawyer, did you?" She broke down and sobbed. He reached out, took her hand, and let her cry.

  After a while her tears slowed, then dried up. They had a heartfelt talked that lasted for fifteen minutes. When she took her feet she looked better. The color returned to her cheeks and she carried her shoulders straight again. He gave her a brief hug and she returned to the doorway. Once there, she turned.

  "Thank you, Will. We couldn't do this without you."

  "Bullshit," Will said in a cheerful voice. “But thanks, and you're welcome. Tell those guys outside to come on in." He started to turn away but stopped. "Tara."

  She gave him a questioning look.

  "You’re the one we can’t do without. You’re our conscience. We’d fall apart without you."

  She drew a deep breath to respond but clamped her mouth shut instead. A single tear rolled down her cheek, and she nodded her head before stepping through the doorway.

  Thirty-Five

  * * *

  Cyrus entered the conference room, followed by Jody and Jiri. Will noted that the latter pair waited for Cyrus to seat himself and selected spots at the on the opposite side of the table. He couldn't blame them, even though it appeared the little man took pains to clean up for the meeting. His hair, which usually stuck out in every direction as if he’d just received a significant jolt of electricity, had a discernible part and laid flat on his head. His clothes were free of stains and wrinkles and his beard was without its usual collection of crumbs.

  For most men, cleaning up in such a way helped them to make a positive impression. But on Cyrus, it looked weird. It was as if someone took a dump on the sidewalk and sculpted the feces into a figurine. You might think you held at a model of a bird on a fence post or a dog laying on a rug. But it was still a pile of shit.

  Cyrus arranged his supplies with care- a manila folder, a writing tablet, a thick and heavy-looking book, and an assortment of mechanical pencils- until he had them just so. He tucked a stray lock of hair behind his ear and tugged at his shirt collar. Content, he looked at Will and tapped the tablet with two fingers. "I'm ready."

  Will nodded. He leaned back and made a steeple with his fingers. "For the past few weeks, I've had Cyrus working on a special project. It's vitally important to the success of our little community, and I think he's ready to talk to us about it." He lifted his chin in a go sign to Cyrus.

  The little man dipped his head in agreement and cleared his throat.

  The door crashed open and Terrence rushed in, breathing heavily. “Sorry I'm late.” He pulled a chair back with a bang and plopped down in it.

  Cyrus clenched his jaw and shot the latecomer a black look, angered at the interruption. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath; then he exhaled loudly. "Will- go ahead and give them the background. I'll come in when it's time for the technical material."

  Will gave him a thumbs-up. "Whatever works best for you, Cyrus." He leaned forward, placed his elbows on the table, and clasped his hands. "Six weeks go Cyrus and I had a conversation about fuel. Specifically, that we are running out and it is difficult to find gasoline that hasn't gone over.

  "We’re in a remote location. That works to our advantage- fewer people before means fewer creepers now. But it also means when we need something driving is the fastest and safest way to get it. We can send people out on foot or horseback. But if we want them to make it back, and we want them to make it back with supplies, we have to send them on trucks.

  “Important plans for the near future will require using even more fuel. Livestock, crops, scavenging missions twenty miles away. We can't do any of the three without fuel." Jiri raised a finger and Will motioned to him. "Jiri?"

  "Food for thought. Farmers raised livestock and crops without fuel from when China first planted rice in 11,500 BC until the 1930s. Most of the world raised livestock and grew crops without using fuel right up until the world ended."

  "Of course they did. They grew an acre of wheat and tended to three goats and a donkey. Slaughtered a hog every year. Each family farmed enough to feed themselves. I'm talking about doing so on a scale big enough to feed four hundred people."

  Jiri smiled and bowed his head in concession.

  Will continued. "Another thing. We hope to send crews out over the summer in search of enough generators to wire the tunnels for electricity. That's a huge undertaking and may not happen for a long time. But when the time comes, we will need fuel to run the generators.

  "I raised cattle. I didn’t pay a lot of attention to the ethanol craze that swept over the row-crop farmers during the last ten years. All I know about ethanol is that it doubled the cost of my corn."

  "I remember that," the Judge said in a reflective tone. "I remember when anybody with an unused acre planted corn on. Hell, some people planted it on empty lots in town."

  "That they did." Will tapped the table with his index finger. "So, one day I
asked Cyrus if he could make ethanol." He cast a glance at Cyrus. "You're up."

  The inventor leaned forward. He opened the folder and shuffled some papers around, then flipped through the pages on the tablet. Rivulets of sweat ran down his cheeks and forehead and his hands shook as he plucked a piece of paper from the folder and glanced at both sides. It seemed to be what he wanted because he looked up and cleared his throat.

  "I discovered that making ethanol is not a difficult process. For the most part it comes down to having enough raw material. Fruit, corn, wheat, green leaves, silage- any organic matter will work as long as you have a lot of it." He handed his paper to Jiri. “Here's a list of what I'll need."

  Jiri examined the list; Terrence and the Judge leaned close and tried to get a glance at it over his shoulder. "Barrels," Jiri read aloud. He looked up. "Hundreds of clean, empty barrels are right here in the quarry."

  "Is that right?" The Judge asked.

  "Yeah. They used them at the cheese plant." Jiri turned back to the list. "Blunt-ended pole to mash plant matter." He glanced across the table at Cyrus. "Like a shovel?"

  "A shovel wouldn't work well. Think of a super-sized potato masher. A long pole with a large flat surface at the end."

  Jiri grinned at Will. "That sounds easy enough. If we can't find one we can make it."

  Will agreed. "What else?"

  Jiri peered at the paper. "Distiller's yeast. We could find that in a big liquor store, or a home-brew shop if they have one around here." He looked back at the paper and up again. "What's a hydrometer?"

  Cyrus gritted his teeth. "Yeah, that might be a tough find." He pulled a piece of paper from his folder and handed it up the table. "Here’s a picture of one. It's a cross between a thermometer and an eyedropper- it’s used to measure the amount of sugar in a substance. I would look for one in a supply store or maybe a high school science lab."