by W. J. Lundy
Brad nodded his head and leaned forward to look out the front windshield. Palmer was in the driver’s seat wrapped up tight in woolen army blankets. He turned back to Gyles. “Where the hell are we?”
“Just outside the Zoo. The school’s over that ridgeline.”
“Then why are we here?” Brad asked.
“We can’t approach it at night,” Gyles said. “It’s too dangerous.”
“Why don’t we just drive back to the camp and—”
Gyles raised his palm and pointed a finger at his ear. “There’s something else.”
Brad listened and could hear a faint buzzing sound. “What is that?”
“We think it’s a drone,” Gyles whispered. “We saw the flashing red light last night. It’s gone down this road at least twice since the sun came up.”
“That’s how they tracked us to the strip mall.”
Gyles nodded his head. “But I think we lost them after the explosions. The drone doesn’t have us located in the trees; it’s probably just following the road, trying to pick up our tracks again.”
“How do you know?” Brad asked.
“It’s not stopping. It moves up and down the road in a search-like pattern. I was just about to wake Palmer here and have him move out next time it goes past us.”
Brad sat back in the seat. “It makes sense. That’s how they called in the mortar fire. How they knew we were coming after the market, and how to follow us. All this time, they saw everything we were doing.”
Gyles nodded and took a sip from a water bottle before checking his watch. He reached over and shook Palmer, who woke with a start. “What the hell, man?” the driver grumbled.
“Drone just went by; it should be moving back up the road any minute on the return route. You need to be ready to go.”
Palmer stretched his arms in the tight space and yawned. “Fine, man, whatever…”
He pulled the blankets away from his body and stuffed them back into a nylon sack. He then adjusted his seat and leaned over the wheel with his finger on the starter switch, listening. Just as Gyles had predicted, the buzzing sound returned and grew louder before fading again as the drone moved past them on the road.
“Okay, hit it,” Gyles said. Palmer started the engine and pulled out of their nest tucked into the pine trees. Back on the blacktop road, Brad could see they were in a populated area. There were houses pressed tightly together and burned-out and rusted cars in driveways. Farther ahead, they saw stoplights still swinging from their lines. At the intersection, Palmer took a left turn, and Brad spotted a school zone sign then made out the ruins of a military tent city in the distance. The olive drab remains of general purpose tents were crushed in the snow, edges and flaps blowing in the wind.
Humvees and ambulances sat parked side by side, while the burned-out skeleton of a Black Hawk helicopter sat alone in the middle of a football field. Palmer steered clear of it all, navigating his way onto a back-access road then along a narrow chain link fence. The school was large and shaped like an H, with one set of long legs facing the main road, and the back legs facing a rear parking lot. Palmer took them all the way around the bottom of the H. Tucked between the rear extensions of the building was a courtyard, and in that sheltered space were more tents and an old wooden sign denoting the headquarters of some now extinct Michigan Army National Guard unit.
Palmer moved past it all and up the back leg before stopping at another chain link fence. He turned to Gyles. “You’re up.”
Gyles grunted and shook his head. “You mind giving me some cover, Sergeant?”
“Cover?” Brad asked.
“Up in the turret, but whatever you do, don’t shoot. If you see something coming, give a brother some warning.”
Brad gave him a thumbs up, popped up the hatch, and returned to the turret. He spun a quick three-sixty. They were on the back side of the school, in a large, snow-covered lot littered with garbage. Brad turned and saw a row of yellow school busses on flat tires then rotated back to the front where Gyles was working the lock on a chain link fence. Looking it up and down, Brad inspected the fence. It didn’t belong there; it was new—probably constructed by the military when they built the camp—but it didn’t connect to anything. It was just a large square that encapsulated a back area of the school.
Why would they build a fenced-in yard back here? he thought. Maybe it was for later expansion. Gyles freed the lock and waved the HUMVEE through the gate then quickly shut it behind them. Brad spun in the turret as Gyles returned to the vehicle. “What is this place?” Brad asked him.
Gyles looked up at Brad and grimaced. The man shook his head slowly side to side then turned and pointed at lumps in the snow. “It’s a morgue, man. They stacked bodies here until they could be moved to the landfill to be burned.”
Brad focused on the lumps of snow that he’d earlier thought were just drifts. “My God, there are hundreds of them.”
“Try thousands,” Gyles said. “They go all along this side of the school.” He returned to the vehicle and shut the door, leaving Brad alone outside in the turret.
For hundreds of yards in both direction he could see the mounds in the snow, but now focusing, could make out the blacks, blues, and olive drab greens of body bags. He closed his eyes, not wanting to think about how many must be out there. He’d somehow thought, because of the wall, that this area had been spared the worst of it. Palmer eased the HUMVEE ahead and toward a back-loading dock. He turned the vehicle around and then backed it in.
Brad dropped back inside and secured the hatch shut. He turned and could see that Chelsea was awake. She looked at him and then out the window. “Where are we?”
“At a school. We’re going to hole up here for a while,” Brad said. “How are you feeling?”
Chelsea closed her eyes tight then slowly opened them “I feel hungover without the pleasure of a night out. But I’ll be okay. I must have gotten my bell rung.”
Brad smiled at her. “Yeah, I’d say you did.” He turned and could see the other men with their packs on their backs, waiting for them. “Come on, we gotta move; I don’t know how safe it is here.”
Chelsea nodded and reached for her pack and rifle in the space behind her. Together, they exited and stepped into the cold, brisk air. Brad looked left and right, trying to determine where they were headed.
Gyles caught his search and pointed to a narrow pedestrian gate that led to a black steel door with a pane of shatterproof glass imbedded in the center. “Through there. It leads to a maintenance room, boilers, circuit breakers… that sorta stuff.”
Brad waved a hand. “Lead the way.”
Gyles acknowledged him and stepped forward. Brad had Chelsea and Palmer move ahead of him as he took up the rear. They moved along the fence and to the gate, stepping into a narrow walkway between the red-brick building and the chain link then up a set of poured concrete steps to a walkway that led to the door. They reached the door, and while Gyles worked the lock, Brad’s eyes searched the ground. Most of the snow was undisturbed, but there were places where old boot prints had been made then melted, turned to ice, and snow-covered again.
“You come here often?” Brad asked, pointing to the old tracks.
The door clunked and Gyles pulled back on it, signaling for the others to step inside. He turned to Brad. “It’s on the route. I come here at least once a month.”
Brad shrugged at the answer and stepped inside. Gyles closed and locked the door behind them then hit a breaker. A buzzing sound was followed by the flicker of some sharp, white, LED lights from the ceiling and walls. Palmer looked up at them. “There’s a solar cell on the roof and a bank of batteries in the next room over. It’s nothing like the setup at the strip mall, but at least there are lights.”
“Thought you didn’t like it here,” Brad said.
“I really hate this place.” Palmer scowled. “But I owed this asshole a favor, so I wired him up some lights last year. I haven’t been back since.”
Chelsea stood and
turned toward them. “Is it really that bad? Aside from the morgue outside?” she asked.
Palmer shook his head. “Young lady, you ain’t seen shit. That was nothing.”
Laughing, Gyles grabbed a large Maglite from a shelf and led the way into a dark hall. “Everything on this side of the school is secure. There are two doors that separate us from the instruction and admin side. Whatever you do, don’t go near them or open them.”
“Why?” Chelsea asked.
“Oh, cause the neighbors will eat you.”
“Wait—” Chelsea said, stopping. “There are Primals in here?”
“Tell her,” Palmer said. “The place is full of them; hundreds of them.”
Gyles shook his head at them and kept walking. “I told you it was the zoo. Don’t worry about it; they’re contained,” he said, still moving down the hall with Palmer behind him.
“And you all said the same thing about Detroit.” Chelsea turned and grabbed Brad’s arm. “Are you sure about this guy?”
“I don’t know that we have a choice,” Brad said.
She nodded and looked at the secured door behind them then turned back and followed the others down the hallway. The hallway floors were dusty linoleum and the walls, rough cinderblock. At the end there was a set of double doors that were propped open by cardboard boxes. The next hallway had more light, and the walls were painted an off white with blue, steel cabinets mounted on them. The doors of the cabinets were opened, exposing worn coveralls and mop buckets.
At the end of the space was a break area—a long table surrounded by chairs and a small kitchen space, complete with a pair of sinks and a refrigerator. A toaster oven and microwave were hanging from the bottom of a long wooden shelf. Brad moved around the table and checked the faucet out of habit.
“No water, but there’s beer in the fridge,” Gyles said as he dropped his rifle on the table and moved to one of the blue, steel cabinets.
“Seriously?” Brad asked, looking at the refrigerator. “I’m not going to open this thing and find it full of rotten shit, am I?”
Gyles smiled, pulling a 12-gauge shotgun and a plastic Tupperware container full of shells from the cabinet. “Nah, it’s beer, bro. It’s old beer, but it ain’t half bad.”
Brad apprehensively pulled on the refrigerator door. It popped open; with no power to run it, the light was off. When Brad opened it enough to let in the light, he could see that it was stuffed with blue beer cans. “Where in the hell…?”
“I found a delivery truck in a ditch. Booze ain’t allowed at the compound, so I brought it here. I still have about forty pallets of it in a barn south of here.”
Shrugging, Brad took a can and looked at the nearly three-year-old date. He popped the top and took a sip. The beer was room temperature, but it was good. “Well, I’ll be…” He took a few cans and set them on the table before closing the door. “Now tell me why it is you hate this place so much,” he said, looking at Palmer.
Palmer shook his head and nodded toward Gyles. “Nope; he can show you. I ain’t leaving this room until it’s time to go.”
Gyles popped the Tupperware container full of shells and started loading the shotgun. “I’ll show you, but let me get this loaded up first.” He turned and looked at Palmer. “There’s food in the cabinets and a propane stove. If you ain’t leaving, how ’bout fixing us up some grub?”
“What’s with the shotgun?” Brad asked.
“Drone,” Gyles said. “If it comes back around, I’m going to kill it.” He pushed in the last shell and stuffed others in his breast pocket. “Come on, let’s make rounds before we get too comfortable.” He looked at Chelsea. “Corporal, would you mind staying back? It ain’t good to leave anyone alone.”
Chelsea smiled and nodded. “I’ll keep an eye on your friend,” she said, causing Palmer to sigh as he pulled canned goods from the cupboards.
“Let’s go; we need to get this done,” Gyles said, moving through a door.
Chapter 15
Near Athens, Ohio. The Dead Lands
The vehicles crossed the tracks then parked on opposite sides of the road, facing north. Sean exited with the others following close behind him. Henry was on the far shoulder, kicking away the snow with his boot heel. He walked to a small depression in the earth and pointed. “There’s stacked bodies over here.”
Sean turned and slowly looked in all directions. They were at a railroad crossing on a north-west intersection. To the south was open road and to the north, the outskirts of a burned-out town. The railroad tracks ran parallel to the east-west road. “You sure this is where the train stopped?” Sean asked, looking to the young Baker boys.
“I found something,” Henry said, not allowing the boys to answer. The man walked to a telephone pole, where a brown MRE wrapper was nailed to it. He grabbed the wrapper and removed it. Looking inside, he found a folded bit of paper in a plastic bag. “It’s addressed to Sean,” Henry said, holding up the folded paper.
“What’s it say?” Sean asked.
Henry shook his head. “I don’t feel good about reading another feller’s mail.”
Sean walked closer and held out his hand for the note. Henry passed it to him, and Sean carefully unfolded it. He skimmed it and stopped at the bottom before turning and looking at Brooks. “It’s from Chelsea. She says her and Brad are headed north to Michigan. They stopped the train and they killed Carson. She says there’s plenty of food and water in the train cars and that we shouldn’t come after them.”
Moving closer and inspecting the rails, Brooks looked down at the pile of bodies then turned toward Riley. “Could you identify Carson if you saw him?”
The big man shrugged and walked toward the pile. He then walked around the dead and turned back. “He’s not there,” he said, turning away in disgust.
“You sure?” Sean asked.
“Yeah, I’m sure. He ain’t in that pile,” Riley said, walking away.
“Don’t mean your boy didn’t kill him,” Henry added. “Maybe they tossed his body off the train, or maybe the man fell off.”
Rubbing his chin, Sean stared at the note then looked at the boys. “Your uncle said when you found this spot the train was still here?”
Lucas nodded. “Yes, sir; there was a couple sleeper cars hitched to the engine. Engine looked good to go, like someone just powered it down and walked away. Found dead inside and lots of food and such, just like that note said. We took as much as we could carry and headed back to camp.”
“And this note?” Sean said holding it up. “You missed it?”
Lucas tipped his head to the side. “I guess with so much else to look at we didn’t notice it. I mean with the train and all… But, you know, we saw the tracks headed north. There was fresh snow on the ground; you couldn’t miss ’em.”
“Could be a trap,” Riley said.
“Nah,” Brooks said, shaking his head. “Trap would make no sense. They’d just kill our people or take them. No point in leaving a note like that. Henry is right. Brad probably killed Carson miles down rail. Dumped the body.” Brooks turned and looked north, toward the burned-out town. “Brad did like Chelsea said—and like Brad said he was going to do all along. He went home.”
Henry moved to a rusted car and leaned against the trunk, fishing the pipe from his pocket. “So, what now then?” he asked.
“What do you mean what now? We keep east. We find my family,” Riley spat.
Sean ignored Riley and looked at the boys. “Your uncle said there were tracks. Where did they go?”
“That way,” Lucas said, pointing north.
“What’s there?”
Lucas looked at the trucks and back to Sean. “There’s a town. Depending on the roads, could be a day’s drive. We might want to find a place to stay over though; it’s not good to be driving after dark.”
“All right, let’s mount up. We’re wasting daylight here.”
Brooks moved between them and stopped. Lifting his rifle, he looked through the op
tics. “We got a problem, Chief. Road’s blocked ahead.”
“Blocked how?”
Brooks sighed. “I think I found that herd we were following yesterday… and it’s gotten bigger.”
Stepping around him, Sean moved to the front of the truck and used the scope on his own rifle. Just as Brooks had said, near the center of a group of small homes was a cluster of creepers headed in their direction. “Well damn, and just when it was about to be a productive day,” Sean said. “You see any Primals?”
Brooks swept the horizon to his front then focused somewhere off to the right. “Yeah, they’re out there. Good half dozen of them, at least.”
Sean looked back to the road headed south then back to the front. “Shit, south is nowhere, north looks like one hell of a fight, and we aren’t going back.”
Henry puffed on the pipe and squinted, considering the distance. “Looks like we go east then. I’m sure we’ll find another spot to cut no—” Before the old man could finish his sentence, a round pinged off the hood of the Ranger parked on the east side of the road.
“Down! Sniper!” Brooks yelled, diving into cover just before two more rounds pinged off the truck.
“You see the shooter?” Sean shouted as he squatted behind the steel rim of the vehicle. More rounds snapped off, this time hitting the pavement to their front. One of the Baker boys went to run, and Joey tackled him to the ground, the pair of them falling into the depression with the bodies. Joey recovered and rose up, firing off a salvo of rounds.
“To the north, Chief, on the rooftops,” Joey shouted, ducking as more rounds rained in on them. “They’re mixed in with the damn creepers.”
Sean eased up and peeked over the hood of the truck. Rounds pinged in, forcing his head back down. “Shit,” he shouted as bits of pavement snapped back at him. He switched positions and caught a good look. He could see there was at least one shooter on the peak of a house. The building was surrounded by the stumbling Primal mass. “What the hell are they doing? They’re trapped up there.”
Joey fired off another burst in the direction of the houses, and a part of the mob broke off and headed toward them at a quicker pace than before.
