“It’s a massive purge of the weak, inferred, aged and unwanted.”
“History dictates the strong will survive making the future of the human race greater. Maybe this’s God’s plan to keep us marching forward. He said he’d destroy the world again, but not with flood. The dead walking the earth…”
“He didn’t ask anyone to build an ark first.”
“The animals aren’t threatened with this plague the way they were with flood waters. This eradication’s strictly about humanity.”
Travis tears the seal on the envelope. He reads the single piece of paper inside. “How well do you know your military history, George?”
“Not as well as I should, and I doubt history books have anything relevant on facing an army of the undead.”
“All battles have relevance, but a Roman commander Manius Manilius besieged Carthage in 149 BC, and took two years to overrun the city in which they fortified every building. It was such a hard earned victory they plowed over the city and sowed it with salt to render it unlivable.”
“Why destroy your spoils?”
“I won’t discuss the lack of evidence the Romans actually practiced this, because we are now expected to salt our fields.”
“Colonel?”
“Bring in the demolition team and wire the hospital and all motor pools. If it’s a military building, wire it.”
“Abandoning these people is one thing, but to eliminate all useful support buildings when we’re gone is nothing but murder.”
“We’ve surpassed the rules of murder in this new world. Now get me the demolition team.”
A TREE BRANCH splinters over the skull of a DK. The now brain dead creature collapses before Tom drops the useless wood to the ground. Danziger tosses him a new branch, making sure Tom catches it with his good arm.
“We need to find some real weapons.”
“As long as we don’t run into too many, this will do, and it’s noiseless.” Tom swings the branch. He chokes up on the limb for a better balance to his thrust. “The rifle you lost would have been anything but quiet.”
“We need shelter for the night. I grew up here and had no idea there was so much forest this close to the city.”
“A lot of people fought to keep these areas from being developed. Most people in the city have everything at their disposal so they don’t have a reason to venture outside the border. But those who live near the city have to venture in and know within a few miles of the city the landscape turns back into farmland.” Pain shoots up Tom’s arm. He winces, refusing to whine in pain.
“Fewer DKs then?”
They reach the edge of ground torn asunder by the dragging and tramping of hundreds of pairs of feet. All plant life and foliage has been scraped to dirt. Ragged trees remain without a single branch until five foot up each trunk.
“What did this?”
“More undead than I imagined. Thousands.”
“You said the caravan was this way.” For the first time panic hiccups in Danziger’s tone. He felt little concern about not having supplies knowing they would reach the caravan’s path and they had plenty of extra. Tom knew people in the trucks who would help them. Maybe even someone who could properly set the broken bone in his arm.
Thousands of undead tromping toward all those people. They knew they would face DKs but none of them suspected the number would spill into the thousands. Even in the cordoned off blocks of city streets, he saw no more than a few hundred at one time.
“How do you want to proceed?” Danziger asks.
“Looks like we have three choices: we turn back and die at the hands of those survivors or we move forward and run into a herd of thousands and die.”
“You said three choices.”
“Detective, I figure we just die. I only have one arm. No shelter will protect us from a few thousand dead. Even if you had your fancy rifle and used every bullet to kill one, fifty or so undead wouldn’t put a dent in the wave of monsters that chewed through here.”
Danziger marches after the herd. “We move to the caravan. They had a lot of guns, and if everyone could shoot fifty DKs, it would put a dent.”
“Do you know why I didn’t go with them? What was more appealing than a large group going to a military base for protection? Why didn’t my friends and I escape a city we knew was populated with a few thousand, for sure? The road had to be safer, right?”
“I want my daughter’s killer. I didn’t think about you.”
“Brutal honesty. We need that in this new world. You hang onto it more than the hate you have for the murderer of your daughter and you might just survive this.”
“So why didn’t you go?” Danziger asks.
“Those running the caravan were dumb fucks. The nut job in the safari khakis thought he was a big game hunter. Maybe I knew so much noise would attract all the DKs. Babies crying, loud motors, hell, just the number of people talking would bring more dead than I’ve seen together. No, I knew that trip was a death warrant.”
“Then why help me find a way to reach them?”
“Something to do, I guess. I don’t have anything to do anymore. Any goal I had for my life: add to my mutual funds, advance my career, meet a woman on eHarmony...that’s over.”
“I still have my daughter’s killer to find. He’s not some undead creature, he’s still a breathing monster and I will put him down.”
“Then what?”
Danziger takes a long time to answer. “Try and survive...I guess.”
“Not much of a plan. Just survive.”
“It’s what we were doing before. Just surviving. Going through the paces of living paycheck to paycheck just etching out a meager life.”
“You see no difference now?”
“You don’t have to come with me. I’ll find this guy.”
“I want to know what we are going to do after we kill him.”
“We know the military’s planning on retaking the country. We meet up with their advanced forces.”
“I’m too old to enlist.”
“I doubt age will be an issue in the war.”
The trees break into an open field stretching to the divided highway. Cars gridlock all the lanes. A few DKs mill around. Stragglers separated from the massive heard tearing up the ground on the other side of the highway. The nightmare of bodies of the dead and the mangled remains of those eaten by them litter everywhere.
Danziger creeps up to the half-eaten body of a man and unhooks his fingers from the automatic rifle he held. Spent shell casings crunch under foot. The ejection port remains open, revealing a dry weapon. Danziger fumbles through the guy’s pockets for an extra unspent magazine. He fails to find one.
Tom exchanges his branch for what looks to be a bloodstained fireplace poker. Danziger keeps the rifle, figuring the metal frame makes a better club than the branch he held. He follows Tom to the road.
“Would you know if any of these trucks would have medical supplies?”
“Some do,” Tom admits.
Doors to most of the caravan cars remain flung open. More half-eaten bodies clutter the asphalt. For as many expended shell casings on the ground, Danziger figures there should be a lot more DK corpses.
Panic fire.
These idiots didn’t aim they just fired blindly, and attracted more undead to them. Had they kept calm and chosen each target, they could have survived this or at least thinned the herd, allowing others to escape.
Tom ignores the cars. Danziger figured they’d gather supplies from them since these people just fled leaving everything. He runs after Tom, pausing at a Jeep to trade his rifle for a double barrel shotgun. He cracks the breach revealing two unspent shells.
Catching up to Tom, Danziger finds him ransacking a Jeep. He pulls boxes out of the back uncovering the folded down seats.
Keeping his voice low he says, “I helped pack this Jeep. The head ramrods wanted a few cars with just supplies in case of a breakdown there would be extra food and water.” He flips the now
cleared seat up. “And extra guns.” On the floorboard rests a stack of rifles and several gun belts.
“We clear out the back, take turns sleeping and find the trail of any survivors. We keep quiet, there aren’t enough DKs to bother us.”
“You don’t think your killer survived this attack?”
“People ran. They left everything behind and ran. He’s out there. He’s too smart not to be.”
“Then he’s good enough to still be alive in the morning.” Tom hands him a can of beans. “We pack what we need and find his trail. After we rest.”
“There will be a lot of trails to distinguish from with dozens of people having fled the caravan.”
“The thought crossed my mind. Killers need victims?”
“Usually how it works.”
“After panic leaves those running away, they’ll gather back into groups for security.”
“You think he will join with others.”
“Best way to grab a victim.”
“Maybe he grabs some lone girl separated when everyone ran?”
“Then we eliminate those suspects from those groups gathered back together.”
The herd tore up so much of the landscape that Danziger’s unable to find any distinguishable trace of where living people fled and the dead followed.
“This’s nothing like tracking a deer.”
Tom keeps his rifle ready. He kneels along the destroyed ground his arm secure in a taut sling. “There’re shoe prints of someone running. The DKs drag and shuffle their feet. A living runner has a stride. They ran and the herd followed.”
A few dead half-eaten bodies litter the highway.
“I doubt this herd grew in numbers. So many undead devoured most of what could have reanimated.”
“What side of the highway are we on?” Danziger asks.
“South.”
Danziger travels to the north. The area between the asphalt and the tree line has no freshly attacked bodies. A few DKs are scattered about with bullet holes in the skull. A few people defended themselves before they fell or ran.
The ground becomes less destroyed by trampling feet. He finds three sets of footprints, two smaller feet and one of a booted man over the top of the shambling steps. Or at least someone wearing male boots. He has seen forensics determine the weight of a person through how deep the impression sinks into the dirt. He figures it’s a heavier person so it’s most likely a man.
“Tom, if you were in fear for your life, would you run toward danger?”
“Soldiers are trained to run toward gunfire, which is the stupid direction if you ask me.”
“So are cops.” Danziger follows the footprints. They seem to be willing companions. “From what I’ve seen of these monsters they suffer from a mob mentality. They get moving in large groups it’s hard to make them break rank.”
“I concur.” Tom drops to his hams, rests the rifle against his leg, and feels the boot print in the soil.
Danziger keeps with the trail to the tree line. A DK with a smashed skull lies there. “So someone who kept their faculties during the attack might have realized the safest direction to run was back the way the herd came.”
“These prints were made after the majority of the dead shambled through. I still would check to the south first. You’re putting a lot on one set of tracks. Even if they travel in the smart direction.”
“This guy’s smart,” Danziger reiterates.
FALLEN TREES CREATE a defensible clearing.
“Looks like a good spot for lunch.” He drops his pack. “When you sit, sit in a circle, backs together, so you can watch all around as you eat.”
“Why couldn’t we just take a car, or at least walk along the road?” Karley whines. “My shoes weren’t designed for hiking.”
“Cutting overland through fields and forests has to be faster,” Sarah deduces.
“It’s only faster if we know where we’re going.” Karley wails, unable to hide her fear of being off the military base.
“The biters stay close to the roads. Not much food in the woods.” He understands these people have been within the safety of walls, but they need to halt whining. “Ellsberg, you up for a scout? We’ll let these people rest.”
“You’re going to leave us?” Olivia panics. Karley grabs her before she runs to the man in the sable duster.
“No, I’m just going to check out what’s ahead. Make sure it’s safe.”
“Don’t go too far. My mommy’s really scared,” Olivia projects her fears.
“Olivia,” Karley scolds, despite the truth of her words.
He lets out a small laugh. “I’ll be right back, little one. You protect your mother.”
Ellsberg tromps through tall grass. “I didn’t want to say anything in front of the others—”
He cuts him off, “You’re not happy I left you all sleeping in the convenience store.”
“You’re damn right. I went along with this as a favor to Colonel Travis. He and I go way back. I told him I’d make sure your camp was secure enough to protect his daughter.”
“What about your own family?”
“What about yours?”
“Fair enough,” he changes the subject. “There are a lot of old farms off the main roads. I ran into a family who had no idea the corpses had risen. They made about one trip a month into town. So we do need to be careful when crossing the land in case someone thinks we’re poachers or undead.”
“I haven’t had to deal much with the Infected. I was working on a new refugee camp when orders came in to remove troops.”
“You’re going to leave a lot of people unprotected.”
“I didn’t see you volunteering to take on more survivors,” Ellsberg says.
“I’ve accepted a more realist view of the situation. Without using the algebra I learned in school and forgot. I’ve X amount of food to feed Y amount of people. I won’t support more than can be fed.”
“Sounds Utopic.”
“Could be, Major.”
“So why were you on the roof?” Ellsberg probes.
He holds back an answer until he thinks of something almost truthful. “Trouble sleeping, just felt like I needed to stand guard.”
“Next time, wake me. Let me know you’re gone. I don’t want to shoot you by mistake.”
“Can do.”
The trees open to a field stretching to a forgotten farmhouse. What has to be a marriage of three beauties lying on beach towels sunning themselves causes him to rub his eyes. Before he asks, Ellsberg drops to one knee to hide in the grass.
He controls his fall to lie down. “My knee doesn’t work right.” He removes binoculars from his duster. “So you see them, too.”
“Four living, breathing women.”
“Four?” He raises the binoculars to his face.
“There’s one on the porch.” Major Ellsberg peers through his rifle scope inspecting the house. “More people who don’t know the world ended?”
“It’s early spring. Quite a chill in the air to be sunbathing.” He scans the porch. A jacket clad man rocks in a chair sipping from a glass. He strokes the hair of a fourth woman poised next to him like a loyal hunting dog down to the chain and collar around her neck. “The one on the porch is chained like a prisoner.”
“I think they are prisoners of one sick fuck.” Ellsberg lowers his rifle. “Look at the hands of the sunbathing women.”
“They chained, too?” He swings the binoculars around until he finds one of the bikini clad women. He follows the arch of her back to her shoulder and down the line of her arm past her breast until, “Oh my god. He’s cut off their hands.”
Ellsberg flips his safety off.
He grabs the major’s forearm pulling him into the grass.
“What the hell are you doing? I’ll take him out from here.”
“We don’t know how many friends he has. There could be five more guys in the house.”
“Point taken. How do you want to handle this?” The major
seems to want a second assessment more than a command.
“I wanted to cut through this track of properties to get to another road so we can pick up transportation on the other side. If we go around we run the risk of being caught in the open for the night. Lot of dangers in the dark.”
“I won’t leave those poor women like this,” Ellsberg says.
“Then we need to scout the house and figure out how to help them.”
“I’ll take the tree line and come around from behind the house.”
“No. Sneak back to the group and keep them safe. I’ll scout the house. If there’s more than I can handle, I’ll get you because we’ll need a plan.”
“I should go along. If you get into trouble we’ve no idea where to go from here.”
“Trust me. This is what I do.” He flashes his cocky smile.
“You get them cleaned up for dinner, and make sure Elle’s extra clean,” the jacketed man on the porch speaks softly to her, unhooking the collar chain.
Tears stream down the chubby brunette’s face. Elle knows what’s in store for her.
Observing from the edge of the tall grass, he watches the man go inside the house leaving the four women unsupervised. He visually searches the farm grounds for another watchman. Something has to keep the girls from running.
They march to the springhouse. No one guards them, unless the man has a high-powered rifle and a scope located in one of the windows. He wonders if the women have developed Stockholm syndrome, or worse, it’s impossible to run away without hands.
Three handless girls allow the woman with hands to wash them in the freezing well spring water. She runs a wash cloth over them gently like a mother caring for a baby.
This guy has a supply of fresh water. He extorts pounds of flesh from them, now what do they eat? He wants to sneak to the springhouse and ask the girls how many people hold them prisoner, but if they do suffer from Stockholm syndrome, they’d report him. He eases back up the grass line parallel with the house. He finds no signs of more than just the one man, unless someone else remains quiet. The lack of hands prevents resistance.
No Room In Hell (Book 1): The Good, The Bad and The Undead Page 19
