DEAD_Snapshot_Book 5_Estacada, Oregon

by TW Brown

  9

  Bad Decisions

  One of the things Ken had seen to was the salvaging of anything useful from the small collection of shops along the highway. There was no reason he could see for having their view obstructed. Using a bunch of the old tires still on hand at the local Les Schwab Tire Center, they burned the husks of the buildings to the ground. That made the view unobstructed and let him see the Durango as it slowed to a stop before the spike strips that they had in place across all four lanes of the highway.

  Using the collection of fire trucks, he had them parked around the perimeter fence of the training tower where Ken had the sniper posted. He was standing beside the sniper at the time and took a better look with his field glasses. He could see a couple of faces peering at the set-up from the front seat, but he thought he saw at least a couple of people in the back seat as well.

  They had been smart enough to stop before the spikes. Ken had positioned a line of RVs in front of city hall, sealing the road off that would allow anybody to pass through or turn into the little downtown area. Along the roofs of the RVs, the current team on watch all stood, each of them with a variety of weapons either slung over their shoulder or cradled against the chest.

  After hearing the assorted radio clicks of his watch team to indicate they were all ready, he hurried down to the ground and made his way to the RVs where he climbed up from the back side and snatched up a bullhorn.

  “Attention vehicle occupants,” Ken called out. “We ask that you please step out of your vehicle. Do not display or reach for any form of firearms.”

  A man with dark hair opened the door and stepped out first, making a point to raise his hands above his head. Ken thought he saw the man’s head turn just a fraction. No doubt he was giving instructions to the people still inside the vehicle. There was a distinct difference in the demeanor of this man versus that of Don Evans, Ken thought.

  The man walked around to the front of the vehicle. Ken turned to the few sentries closest to him and nodded. The man stopped when Ken and four others climbed down.

  “This guy seems very calm and is not making any sudden moves or acting like an idiot. Let me see what he wants. Everybody keep your fingers off their triggers,” Ken cautioned.

  “You think he is probing us?” Colton whispered. “Maybe he is so confident because he has a .50 cal mounted on a school bus as support.

  “You hear any rumbling engines?” Ken rolled his eyes. He understood caution, but he did not need paranoia to start running rampant.

  Without waiting for a reply, Ken began to saunter over with the casual confidence of a group that at least feels like it has the advantage. He did his best to keep his face clear of any emotion. He wouldn’t be gruff or hostile, but he wasn’t going be welcoming either.

  Making an effort to hold his shotgun casually in his hands as he approached, he could feel the pair of pistols dangling from his hips as they tapped against his sides in rhythm to his steady steps. He’d swapped his scoped rifle which now hung over his shoulder for the shotgun as soon as he’d climbed down from the RV. His only other weapon was his big hunting knife that was always strapped to one leg.

  “How many more folks you got in that rig?” Ken asked by way of greeting when he came to a stop about ten feet away from the smaller man.

  “Just a few,” was the answer. The man seemed to consider something for a moment and then added, “And a dog.”

  “And what brings you out here?” Ken eyed the Durango with a concentrated squint as he tried to see how many might be inside.

  “Actually just making our way out to the hills,” the man answered.

  There was no doubt in Ken’s mind that the man was being cautious with his sharing of information. That actually boded well as far as Ken was concerned. If he was being cautious, then just maybe he was feeling a bit scared or nervous.

  “And we don’t want any trouble,” the man continued. “We just want to move on…hopefully set ourselves up someplace safe and ride this out.”

  “Safe?” Ken barked, unable to contain his amusement at that concept. “How long you been out? If you’ve been hiding out in one of them shelters, then you might’ve missed the news, friend. Ain’t no place safe these days.”

  “Yeah…well hanging around the metro area is a bit worse than out here. If we are gonna have a shot at making it, then getting away from Portland was a priority.”

  Ken could see the man’s eyes as they roamed the area. Ken saw the stranger’s expression twitch just a bit and was impressed with how well he disguised what he was thinking or feeling.

  “What do we have here, Ken?” Sean Drinkwine strolled up wearing jeans, a dress shirt and tie, and shiny, black boots. His pistol dangled from his hip looking more than a little out of place.

  “They say they’re passing through…leaving the city and heading out someplace safe,” Ken, replied, sounding a bit derisive when he said that last bit.

  “Where exactly is this safe place?” Sean asked, his smile not slipping in the least as he stepped up beside Ken and gave this new arrival a nod in greeting. “Before everything went south, word had it that most of the Asian countries were simply gone. Both Koreas blew each other up if you believe that happy-crappy. India just imploded. Their population density and poverty made them fast food for them infecteds. Russia denied the problem all the way up to the end, but YouTube exposed that lie before the internet crashed for good. Big cities and small towns all went the way of the dodo for the most part.”

  “You seem to be doing okay.” The man gave a nod to the tower and the RVs blocking the main entrance to downtown Estacada.

  “We lost our share. Just had a few people that weren’t fooled by the media denials early on and set ourselves up to defend against the infection getting a foothold is all. That…” Ken paused and looked over the man’s shoulder at the Durango, “…and the fact we also figured on the living becoming more of a problem than the infected.”

  “Well, we don’t want to be a problem,” this man insisted, taking a step back when he saw Ken turn his attention back to him. There was a sudden hardness in his eyes that did not match the smile he still wore. “We honestly just want to move along and find our own place.”

  “You all don’t really have any idea what you’re doin’, do ya?” Ken chortled. “There been a few groups try to pass through here, then sneak back in and try to take from our people.”

  “I can’t speak for any of those folks.” The man took a step back, he was obviously starting to feel threatened by the lack of hospitality. “We’ve had enough of our own troubles with some bad people wandering these parts. In fact, if you see a school bus come rumbling along, you might be best served just shooting first and asking questions later.”

  Ken and the mayor glanced at each other and then Ken leaned over and whispered something to the politician.

  “I think this guy is on the level. And any enemy of my enemy like they say,” Ken said, his voice barely louder than a breath.

  “I think we can let them in. If they want to head up the road, then perhaps we will have a buffer between us and trouble,” Sean Drinkwine replied.

  “One of our citizens said something about a bus,” Ken lied. Technically, he wasn’t lying, but he certainly was not being completely honest, and he was okay with that. “Actually, we have a ‘shoot on sight’ order out for any such vehicle that might come our way.” Ken took a step back and ushered the man forward with his arm. “We would like for you and your people to come to our checkpoint. We want to take down names and the information on that vehicle. If you don’t prove to be a problem, and if for some reason you need to come back this way, it will make things easier.”

  The Durango was escorted into the small parking area beside city hall. All of the occupants were assigned a trail, even the child, although that ended up being Bennett. The highlight was when a large black dog emerged from the vehicle. Ken noted that she seemed to be missing part of her tail, but that was quickly forgotten
when the big dog bounded up and nudged his hand. No sooner had he bent slightly to pet the bear cub-sized animal when its enormous, wet tongue came out and slathered him with a drooly kiss.

  There was enough time while they all signed the register for him to slip away and grab a few jars of beer to send with them on their way. He left them in Sean’s care during his absence, but was annoyed to return and discover Patrick Lake had installed himself in the middle of the scene and was apparently making it a point to grill the large black man away from the group.

  When he strolled up, he only caught the last part of the conversation, but he had to fight the urge to yank the man away by the collar.

  “…and if this Evans person is the radical white supremacist that I’ve heard tell, he could very well scour this area again looking for you and your group. You say that you’ve had run-ins with him already, so I hope you understand that I’m only looking out for our well being when I ask if you are sure he has no idea of your ultimate destination.”

  “Mister…I have no idea what Evans knows or doesn’t, but if he comes after us, it will be our problem, not yours,” The large man turned and walked back over to his group shaking his head.

  When Patrick turned and saw Ken, his lips pressed tight and he almost tripped over himself to get away. Ken could only shake his head at the man’s stupidity.

  After taking a few slow and deep breaths, he walked over to where this man—Evan Berry turned out to be his name—was talking to Sean. Ken noted that, despite being very engaged in the conversation, Evan’s eyes were constantly scanning the scene and keeping tabs on his people. In particular, he seemed to have special interests in the little boy who never seemed to be looking at anything beyond his own feet, and the big black dog.

  Interestingly enough, Colton could not seem to get enough of the dog and vanished at one point for a little while only to return with a box of fresh venison to give the strangers headed to Milo McIver Park for whatever reason. That destination made no sense to Ken, but he supposed everybody had their own ideas on how to survive the apocalypse.

  Eventually, the excitement wore down and folks returned to their posts after saying farewells to these seemingly good people. Ken headed over to wish them well as Sean was explaining the registry that was now being kept.

  “Let’s say you folks decide you want to come back this direction and maybe ask to become a part of our community, if any of us here today don’t happen to be on sentry when you come back, who knows what could happen.”

  He held up the large book and flipped through some of the pages of the register with names of people, a few vehicle license plate numbers and descriptions, and even a few photos of people that were either welcome or not. He added all the information that Evan Berry could relate about Don Evans and Natasha Petrov to the list.

  As the Durango exited the town and veered right to head up to the McIver campgrounds, Ken wondered if they would ever see those people again. He did not give them much chance when it came to survival. They were having enough trouble with an entire town, he couldn’t imagine trying to survive with a small handful of people that you found on the way.

  ***

  “I thought we told everybody to stay the hell away from Happy Valley,” Ken snarled.

  “Yeah, well Lake does what he wants, I guess,” Colton shot back uncharacteristically. “I ain’t his keeper.”

  “And who saw him head that way, and how do they know for sure he went to Happy Valley?” Ken asked, noticing a fleck of dried black blood on Colton’s neck which meant he’d had to take down a few of the undead on his last foraging run.

  “It came across the radio,” Colton answered. “I didn’t catch who was talking. All I heard them say was, “Ain’t that Mister Lake heading into the Carver Curves?” And then I lost them. I was up Highway 26 toward Mount Hood. Found a big rig hauling a shitload of canned food. I didn’t want to leave it to find out what that prick Lake was doing.”

  Ken understood the reason as he glanced over to the semi parked in front of the market. Already there was a team of at least five people helping to unload all the cases of canned goods. It would feed a lot of families, and even now, there were already those who were going hungry. Last count, twenty-something families had simply vanished. Also, there had been a few altercations at the store during distribution days where hauls like this latest one were divvied up and handed out.

  As he tried to bring his temper under control at Lake’s newest thumbing of his nose, Sean sauntered up, an insulated mug of what smelled like fresh coffee in his hand.

  “What’s the latest word?” the mayor asked.

  Ken caught a whiff of alcohol on the man’s breath. He pushed it aside. If this were a few months ago, he would’ve raised an eyebrow, but these days, if a man or woman wanted to splash a bit of whiskey in their late-morning coffee, that was their business.

  “Lake took off on a run to Happy Valley,” Ken answered, making a point not to snap at the mayor since he wasn’t responsible for that jerk.

  “I thought we declared that area off limits,” Sean said.

  Now Ken was certain the man was a tad bit inebriated. His words came out a bit slurred. He even wobbled just a little. Something was off, but at the moment, Ken didn’t have time to deal with it. This issue with Lake was starting to grow again.

  Lately, he’d been stirring up the population about little things such as the decision that everybody had to take a turn on the sanitation detail each month. It was also being reported that he was bribing other people to take his watch duty. And then, just two days ago, he’d demanded that a new election be held for the role of mayor.

  Ken saw that last bit as laughable. Sean had sort of stepped aside and allowed the council to handle things. He was really more of a “comfort ambassador.” That is what Bennett called him, saying that he was doing what he did best which was get face time with the community and ensure them that everything was going well and situations were steadily improving. He had a knack for spinning good news from any situation.

  “Maybe he won’t come back,” Sean shrugged.

  Ken could only be so lucky. Again, he glanced at the mayor. Despite it not really being his thing, he decided that it was the right thing to do. “You okay?” he asked.

  The man looked up at him, just a hint of red rimmed his eyes. His lids were a little droopy, and his normal smile lacked its typical genuine appearance.

  “It’s the end of the world, Kenny,” the man slurred after taking another long draw of his coffee. “Why would anybody be okay?”

  Ken bristled at being called Kenny, but he let it slide. He was about to suggest that the man perhaps go home and sleep it off when Colton’s radio crackled.

  “Is anybody there?” a familiar voice all but yelled.

  Colton looked at the radio like it had grown a head and then, after a quick shake of his own head, he handed it to Ken. Ken snatched it from the man, causing him to wince and flinch.

  “What part of stay out of Happy Valley did you not understand, Lake?” Ken growled into the radio.

  “You really want to do this now, Ken?” Patrick Lake shot back. The sounds of gunfire could be heard in the background.

  “If you think I am sending anybody out there to die for you—” Ken started, but Patrick cut him off.

  “We have two big rigs full of supplies, you arrogant bastard!”

  Pot, meet Kettle, Ken thought as he listened.

  “One of my guys came back and told me this stuff was ripe for the taking. I am trying to do what I can to help the community.”

  “Since when did you start sending out patrols, Lake?” Ken asked with a derisive snort. “And all of this as you are trying to force some sort of election?”

  For some reason, Ken felt no compassion as he heard more shooting and a scream of pain in the background. Losing Lake would do more good than harm. He very briefly considered the mindset that was allowing him to not only accept, but justify giving over a man—not to mention th
ose that were accompanying him—to what sounded like certain death. Patrick Lake had brought this on himself. Granted, he thought that Don Evans and his crew were the real danger, but if zombies took Lake down, did it really matter?

  “We are over by Sunnyside Road…” a staccato burst of gunfire cut the man off. The radio emitted a high-pitched electrical scream and then Lake’s voice returned, “…122nd with two full trailers of food. If you are really trying to help the community, then get off your ass. We can’t hold out much longer.”

  There was another burst of gunfire, and then…silence. Ken waited, certain that Lake would come back on and try to berate him into going out there and help clean up his mess.

  “We ain’t gonna do nothin’?” Colton finally asked. “That is a lot of food, and I don’t know if you noticed, but the scavenging teams are finding fewer spots to hit.”

  Ken stood silently, staring ahead and trying to ignore Colton’s abnormally firm grasp of the situation. The radio remained silent, making time seem to slow.

  “Are we gonna let some crazy guy in a school bus scare us away? We need to bring in supplies, boss.”

  Colton only referred to Ken as “boss” when he thought the man was wrong. Maybe it was an unconscious response from his time spent in the county lockup. Apparently referring to the correctional staff as “boss” could be considered a derogatory slur in some circles.

  “The hunters are bringing in game, but it is barely enough to keep up with demand. The last farm we checked out, half the livestock was either sick, dead, or had a bite taken out of them by a zombie. And fishing is hit and miss. We need to stock our supplies any chance we get. If they got two trucks of food…I don’t see how we can just sit it out.”

  “Dammit,” Ken hissed. “Get a team together and meet me back here at Fearless.”

  Colton dashed off and Ken stormed into the empty brewery that used to buzz with conversation. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a pack of Rolaids and popped three into his mouth. This was becoming a regular event. He now kept three or four rolls on himself at all times. It was starting to wear on him.