Storm Horizon

by Brian Switzer

  Danny rapped on the sheet metal next to the window; Andro caught his eye in the rearview. “Pull over up here. I don’t want us to have to yell back and forth.”

  Andro nodded and eased to a stop.

  Danny pointed at the empty back seat. “We’re one short. Jobe didn’t make it?”

  Andro filled him in on Jobe's attempt to abandon Danny to save themselves.

  Danny tilted his head and gave him a crooked grin. "Let me make sure I understand. Jobe wanted to leave me behind, so as punishment… we're going to leave him behind." He snorted and then chuckled, his eyes wide. "Andro- come on, man."

  Cassandro didn't meet his eyes, but didn't acquiesce, either.

  Danny turned his gaze to Willa. "What you think we should do?"

  Willa didn't miss a beat. "Go back and get him."

  "There you go, you big Mexican son of a bitch. You're outvoted two to one."

  Cassandro gave an exaggerated sigh. He shook his head and sat slump-shouldered as he dropped the truck into gear and turned back they came.

  Four blocks up the street, Jobe jumped out from behind a parked car and ran toward the Ford.

  "There he is," Willa exclaimed, pointing at the running figure.

  Andro gave another mournful sigh and slowed to a stop in the middle of the road.

  Danny stuck his head in the back window. "Let him up there with you guys." He tossed a can of chewing tobacco at Andro, hitting him in the shoulder. "And you, you big teddy bear you, don't get in any trouble on the way home."

  Relieved happiness surged Willa felt a happy relief as she jumped out and open the back door for Jobe. "Here- get in," she told him. She close the door behind him and jumped back in up front.

  "Thanks for coming and getting me," Jobe mumbled, staring down at the floorboard.

  Willa couldn’t tell if he was angry or embarrassed. No matter, she thought as she blew out the smoke from a new cigarette. They'd start the day with four people. They got almost everything Cyrus needed. And they ended the day with four people. That made for a successful trip, no matter what happened along the way.

  Forty-One

  * * *

  Will perused the cab of the three-quarter-ton Ford and felt a vague sense of déjà vu. The crew seated with him took him back to that crazy two-week jaunt from Bolivar to the quarry in the fall.

  He sat in his usual spot in the front passenger seat, and Danny drove. In the back, Jiri and Cassandro relaxed on opposite sides of the bench seat. In between them, Justin clutched his maps and tried to hide his nervousness. The only person missing was Becky in the trundle seat up front, alternating between sassing Danny and Will and complaining about the seat’s lack of comfort.

  Becky stayed behind this time, at his insistence. He wanted nothing but pure fighters for this trip.

  Coy stayed back, too, over his furious objections and Will's better judgment. The leadership assumed the community would suffer losses on this trip. Coy's position as the camp’s hunter made him too important to risk losing. Mark summed it up nicely. “We lose that boy and two weeks later, we’re all vegetarians.” Coy was working with a pair of skilled hunters, teaching them his skills and passing on his knowledge. But the two of them working together couldn't fill his shoes, not yet. So he sat back at camp and waited to see if his dad and Danny returned.

  Justin's maps said it was thirteen miles from the quarry to the Joplin city limits. Thirty-five minutes into the trip the countryside began to fade away, but there was no sign of the town yet. Will shook his head to himself at how slow road travel was in the new world.

  The easiest route was an almost straight shot on a four-lane highway, but there was no chance they would go that way. Even in a place far from any city, cars choked the major highways bumper-to-bumper in all four lanes. And because people stuck in traffic jams left their cars only to be attacked and turn, the highways ran thick with creepers.

  Instead, they traveled a winding route across county lanes and back roads and rarely exceeded speeds of thirty miles an hour. Empty vehicles and other debris dotted those roads, too. You never knew when an overturned milk truck, an old refrigerator, or a trio of creepers would be around the next bend or over the next rise.

  An old plumbing van with an empty cargo box rambled along behind the Ford, carrying Tara, Terrence, Dr. Joseph, and Jax.

  As they prepared for the trip, Danny took stock of the assembled crew and looked at Will with a solemn expression. "If something happens and none of us make it back, this place is doomed. We're even taking the doctor."

  “This whole thing was the Doc’s idea.”

  “That explains why he’s going. Why the hell are we taking Jax? You insisted he come with us.”

  “If you and I don’t make it I don't want that miserable bastard anywhere near my family or anybody I care about."

  Jax was a police officer before the outbreak and looked the part- big stomach, meaty neck and biceps, a flattop, and a thick, bushy cop-mustache. He bullied those weaker than him and was an obsequious ass-kisser to those stronger. He worked as the community’s head of security until Will's team showed up and cast him aside.

  Will craned his neck to survey the back seat. "How we coming, Justin?"

  "About another five miles and we'll hit the city limit."

  "And you know where to go once we are in the town? Odds are we won’t be able to pull over and consult with the Doc."

  "We're good. Doc gave me the info I needed to draw a detailed map down to the individual buildings. I incorporated that into my existing street maps and memorized the route. I'll get you right to the front door."

  Will leaned back against the headrest. He let his mind wander back to the conversation that started this entire adventure.

  A smile played on Doc Joseph’s lips. "You need guns? I can get you all the guns and ammunition you want."

  Forty-Two

  * * *

  The Doc uttered that bit of bravura at an informal gathering of the camp leadership.

  "My brother was Branch Chief for the Army National Guard post over in Joplin, about fifteen miles from here. When things got weird, we made sure we talked several times a day.

  The military command structure was a mess. The higher-ups didn’t understand the situation on the ground until it was too late. Conflicting orders came from every direction. The State Guard Headquarters in Jefferson City would send a directive ordering the post to assist local police. The same day, Washington would send them a list of bridges to demolish. That evening the Army sent word they were all to be called up to active duty.

  "In the face of orders that changed on the hour and were never followed up on, my brother, James, had other ideas. Not that he didn't believe in the chain of command. But his base- it's an armory, you see. As society deteriorated day by day, many people decided they needed the weapons inside.

  "James felt that securing a room full of automatic rifles and grenade launchers was more important than the latest half-baked notion to come down the chain of command. So, he and his force of forty-three guardsmen defended their base.

  "They defended it against a variety of threats. Everything from a few yahoos with no plan at all, to organized and well-armed citizen militia groups who welcomed the coming new order and intended to govern it with force.

  "As society spiraled downward, the attacks grew more frequent. It seemed everyone still living decided that a 50 caliber rifle and an assortment of RPG's was just what they needed.

  "Two weeks into the outbreak, their situation grew dire. The base wasn't built for a siege. Right before the outbreak they had a drill weekend and the mess wasn't stocked. They were in a remote location, so sweeping the neighborhood for food wasn't an option.

  "James called his men together. I don't know how many they numbered at this point- he lost soldiers in the attacks, and a few others suffered bites. He dismissed those who requested to leave, whether to join their families or simply to get off the base and try to survive. In the end, he had sev
en men- a lieutenant, two sergeants, and the rest were PFCs.”

  The Doc paused. He took off his glasses and cleaned them with his shirttail, clearing his throat several times in the process. The onlookers stared in rapt attention.

  "I begged him to come and stay with me, you see? There I was, tucked away in my impregnable sanctuary atop a hill, safe from man, beast, and risen dead. But he had other ideas.

  "The landlines were dead by this point, but semi-reliable cell service still existed. He phoned one afternoon, told me his plan, and asked for help. I didn't hesitate.

  "James' greatest fear wasn’t death. It was those weapons falling into the hands of nonmilitary personnel. He knew there would come a day when there were no soldiers left to defend the armory and he was determined to prevent the items in the armory from being stolen once that happened.

  "So we moved them."

  "You moved them," Will repeated.

  "Yes, we did. Most of them, anyway. I'll not bore you with the details. Suffice to say, if you climb to the top floor of Joplin's tallest building — the First United Bank building — and go through a partition that very few people are familiar with… there you will find a cache of military-grade firearms."

  The gathering sat in thunderstruck silence. Jiri wore the expression of a man who just found out not only that Bigfoot is real, but he is real and fucking the man's wife.

  Will felt a sense of heady excitement. He reminded himself of all the times he felt excited only to get let down over the last few years, and the need to temper his excitement with caution. He caught the Doc’s eye. "What makes you sure they are still there? Is this building in the middle of Joplin?"

  The Doc answered with a nod.

  "No offense, but you have no way of knowing if the sergeant and two of the PFCs returned the next day and took the guns for themselves."

  Danny shot Will an incredulous look. "Why are you shitting all over the man's story?"

  "I'm not. I'm being realistic.

  Doc Joseph spoke up. "There is a simple answer to your question, Will. My brother’s men hauled the weapons to the bank. But they didn’t go inside. He allowed them to enter the lobby, but not to go up the stairs.

  "We attracted quite a bit of attention from the dead as we offloaded the crates. His men hid in a back room so they would be unaware of the weapons' final destination. Even if they returned at a later date to retrieve them, it would've been a near-impossible task."

  "Why is that?"

  The Doc displayed his small grin for the second time. "Two reasons. First, we hid them in a secret room that is a relic from Joplin's bootlegger era. Only a few old and lifelong residents of the area are aware of its existence.

  "Second — and it is important you understand this was my brother's idea — we made them difficult to get to."

  Will exhaled pinched the bridge of his nose. "I bet this is a doozy."

  "Yes, some might call it that. James brought along a little surprise when we moved the weapons- one of the men who tried to storm the armory. They captured and held on to him in case he came in handy. And indeed he did. Once we had the weapon hidden away — and let me tell you, that was quite an ordeal — we took our little friend and put him in a broom closet on the first floor with his hands and feet bound. At that point, I left the closet. I have no idea what James did, but soon after, the gentleman began to scream quite energetically.

  "We fled. On her way out the door, for reasons unknown to me at the time, James used a cinderblock to hold open a door.

  "Once safely ensconced in our vehicle a block away, we didn't drive off. James ordered me to lie down in the seat, and he ducked down so just the top of his head was visible over the dash.

  "Again, I don't know what caused the man to suffer so- I never asked. But the gentleman inside screamed and screamed, for a very long time. As a result, the street below crawled with the dead by the time I left.

  Dr. Joseph removed his glasses again. His shoulders heaved, and he blew out a great, ragged sigh. Becky put a comforting hand on his shoulder. He gave her a wan smile and continued. "I assure you, I had no prior warning of my brother's actions. He said some kind words about love and brotherhood and made me promise I would drive off if he didn't make it back to the car. I asked what he might not make it back from, but he just kept insisting I promise. So finally I promised. He held out a fist; I opened my hand and he placed his wedding ring in it. He told me he loved me once more and got out of the truck.

  "The dead filled the street. They have a herd mentality and if two of them notice three others walking in the same direction, the first two will follow. James weaved through them Gale Sayers slicing through the Detroit Lions on Thanksgiving afternoon. The bank lobby was just packed with them, and as he ran, he made his way to the lobby doors. He removed the cinderblock, trapping them inside.

  "They took him as he returned to the car. He miscalculated, or one didn't react as he thought, or some other thing happened. But he ran right into one, and it grabbed him by the shoulder. He fought it off but slipped, and before I could do anything they smothered him." He paused for a long moment. "That's it. That's the story. I'm positive the weapons are still where we left them. I'm equally positive there are scores of the dead eternally protecting them.”

  Forty-Three

  * * *

  Becky was quiet on the walk back to the shaft they called home. Once there, Will pulled off his boots and his shirt and traded his jeans for a pair of sweatpants. The bedroom in their little cube-apartment was tiny. There was room for a bed, a dresser alongside the makeshift wall, and a skinny walkway between the two. In such confined quarters, there was no way he could miss the looks she threw in his direction. They were the wounded glances of a Bassett hound puppy that had received its first scolding. After the fourth such glance, Will sighed and fell back on the bed. "Do we have to do this now?"

  She was the picture of innocence. "Do what?"

  "I'm the leader, Becky. How will it look if I don't go?" Too late, he realized his mistake. She was waiting for that comment.

  She spun to face him, the hurt gone from her eyes and replaced with anger. "Like you’re the leader. Don't you get it? The Boss delegates, he doesn't do the work on the ground. Generals don't lead missions; they devise a plan and send the best people to carry it out."

  "Except in this case, I'm one of the best people. And this isn’t an office or an old-fashioned war between countries. If I go and I do my part, it gives everybody else the best chance to come back alive. And keeping the people in this community alive is my responsibility."

  "That's your responsibility?" She sputtered. "Oh, I'm sorry, I thought your responsibilities are me and our son."

  "I'm not saying you're not- "

  Becky continued, talking over the top of him. "And who gives a shit how something looks? Are you saying that your reputation as a Number One Stud Zombie-Killer of the Apocalypse is more important than the vows you made to your wife?"

  "Wait- what?"

  "The first thing you said was how will it look if you didn't go. Is your reputation that important to you?"

  "Yes. My ability to make decisions and take the actions that keep you safe rely on me being in charge. Otherwise, I’m just another guy hoping my opinion gets heard."

  And so they went, round and round. It didn't help Will's temper that the argument played out within hearing distance of any crew members still awake. The living quarters they had built in their tunnel were of better quality than the shared-wall shantytown that the Originals called home. At least here, the tiny dwellings were free-standing and constructed mostly of wood. But the walls were thin and the buildings close together, and they still needed to construct the roofs.

  With that in mind, and after each attempt by Will to bring the volume down made Becky angrier, he stood. "I want to do this. I'm going out for a while."

  "Fine."

  Will rolled his eyes, grabbed one of the two lanterns that lit the room, and left. "Piece of shit place
doesn't even have a front door I can slam," he mumbled as he tied in place the six by four sheet of pressed wood that they set aside to enter and exit the apartment.

  He trod toward the entrance in his stocking feet; the last thing he wanted to do was alert one of his crew to his presence and get stuck in a conversation. So he almost turned back when he saw Danny standing at the exit to the quarry bottom.

  But the younger man had already noticed the light spilling from the lantern and turned to see who approached. "Hey, Boss," he called. "Come on out and sit a spell. I'm counting shooting stars."

  Will gaped at him. "That's something I never expected to hear you say."

  "Yeah. Tara's really into astronomy. She said something tonight would cause lots of comets, some sort of… shit, I don’t know. But she’s right. There’s been a shit ton of them"

  Will whistled appreciatively. "Tara, huh? Something going on there?"

  "I don't know. We like being around each other. That's all it's come to, so far."

  "Good luck to you, if that's what you want."

  "Thanks." He jerked a thumb toward the tunnel entrance. "Rough in there."

  "She'll come around. She just has to ponder on it a while."

  "Sure. I love her like she was my mom, but you're right- you have to make the trip. You inspire people. Your presence is inspiring. You keep people going when otherwise they'd quit."

  "Danny?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Are you trying to get in my pants?"

  Danny chortled. "Fuck you."

  They stood next to one another, looking up at the starry sky. Neither found it necessary to break the silence.

  Another figure emerged from the black depths of the tunnel. Gradually, Will made out Cassandro's stocky, broad-shouldered form. “Hey, it's Andro. We need one more person out here and we’ll have enough for a round of golf."