“Sir! You can still see the smoke, sir!” The driver of the truck pointed out.
Thorton looked and laughed quietly. We’re twelve miles away and that pillar of smoke is as clear as an arrow. Talon has to be heading that way, now. He thought. Out loud he said, “Slow down, I want to see the maps and figure our next move.”
Ken quickly found his bearings and as the trucks slowly moved north, he planned his next move. It was nearly midday and as strange as it sounded, he needed to start thinking about a safe place to spend the night.
As it was, they were on a collision course with several towns of dubious safety and Thorton decided to try and get by the towns and head for the hills of West Virginia.
“When you see signs for 618, follow them. That will get us across the river and reconnect with Route 50. We’ll find a place to spend the night after that.”
“Yessir!” said the private, swerving around a stalled vehicle and increasing his speed. He had a hard job, watching for road hazards and trying to keep on course. As they moved around a large bend in the river, a huge island came into view. He pointed it out to the major, who dismissed it out of hand.
“I know it looks good, but we may as well keep moving if we can. The further we get to D.C., the better chance we have of taking care of business before Talon. Keep driving.”
The island, Blennerhasset Island Historical State Park, was formally the home of Harmon Blennerhasset, a wealthy Irishman once accused of treason by Thomas Jefferson for plotting to establish an empire in the Southwest with Aaron Burr. A large restored mansion lay on the east end of the island, but from Thorton’s point of view, the island was just wilderness.
The road wound through a large town and there was a lot of devastation. A fire sometime in the past wiped out a good portion, leaving blackened ruins for blocks. Cars were all over the place, many left with open doors and belongings inside, a sure sign someone fled when the zombies came close. Here and there lay skeletal remains, the reminders of the Upheaval. Some of the remains showed clear signs of head trauma, making it easy to tell which ones used to be zombies.
The deeper the convoy moved through town, the worse the devastation became. Thorton could see where people had made last stands against the hordes of zombies. Rings of bodies around ruined homes and businesses told tales of desperate battles against the undead. One building, an aquarium shop, had dozens of skeletal remains lying around its parking lot. The smashed in windows and scorch marks were a familiar ending to that chapter.
The trucks entered the business district and there was immediate activity. Down every side street and alley had to be dozens of roaming zombies. At the passage of the trucks, they began a slow, measured pursuit, hopeless in ambition, but determined in execution.
Thorton signaled his driver to speed up and ordered the other trucks to close ranks as much as they could. If they were getting this much of a response this early, they would do better to try and run through before zombies ahead of them tried to block their way. It was hard enough with the cars and bodies, but a sizable swarm of ghouls could stop the trucks dead in more ways than one.
The trucks quickly made their way through the rest of the town and Thorton could see the river peeking through gaps in the homes and businesses. Pretty soon they would be in West Virginia and Thorton hoped they would be able to make a clean run to D.C.. He had no idea what waited for him at the nation’s capitol, but he figured it couldn’t be that bad.
“Sir!” his driver yelled. “Behind us!”
Thorton looked out the rear view mirror and blanched. Nearly three hundred zombies of assorted shapes and sizes were following the trucks at various speeds.
“Shit. Well, if we keep moving, then we should be able to outrun them. If nothing serious is blocking our way, they won’t be a problem.” Thorton hoped he was right. A horde of that size could easily overwhelm his small band and he didn’t come all this way to get slaughtered.
But even as the situation looked grim, Thorton’s mind was already running with escape strategies. Push came to shove, he’d make a break for the river, trusting in the zombies’ aversion to water and get himself away from the killing. If he had to leave his men to die, so be it. He’d been on his own before and managed pretty well.
The trucks reached the edge of the bridge and Thorton immediately saw a problem. The bridge was blocked by three cars that looked like they had wanted to all get through at the same time. They could clear the cars, but that meant they had to use up precious minutes to do so and they didn’t have seconds to spare.
Thorton was about to order the private to ram his way through, when the private spoke up.
“Sir. Why don’t we take the tracks, sir? Our wheels are large enough and there’s enough clearance under the trucks to pass over the rails.”
Thorton looked quickly and saw it was possible. “Do it, corporal.”
“Sir, I’m just a private, sir.”
“Not anymore. Now get us across!” The zombie horde, over four hundred strong, began their pre-slaughter groaning and wheezing, since they were only two hundred feet away. In the last truck in the line, the men were scrambling to get weapons and magazines ready. They hadn’t received the order to fire, but if it was them or the zombies, they were going to sell their lives dearly.
Fortunately, the trucks began to roll away from the stoppage and over to the railroad tracks that ran parallel to the highway bridge crossing the river. It was one of those old iron trestles, rusty brown and black. Corporal Halleman eased the first trunk onto the tracks at the crossing, being careful not to go too fast and bounce themselves right off the bridge. The train bridge was not much wider than the trucks, but since the trucks had to drive over the rails, the left tires were inches away from falling off the bridge.
Halleman opened his door and slowly worked his way over the river, just watching the railroad ties and his front tire. The truck driver behind him did the same thing, followed in turn by the last truck.
The men in the last truck were at their wits end. They had watched helplessly as the zombie horde had nearly caught them once and while the first two trucks were slowly getting onto the tracks, the zombies were coming for them again. At the last second, when the first decayed hand reached for the truck, the vehicle lurched forward, moving onto the tracks. The men watched the zombies give chase, then cheered when they saw the zombies couldn’t navigate the railroad tracks. The first two to try it tumbled and fell down the hilly slope to the water’s edge. The next few to try were a little luckier, but they also fell. As the trucks moved away, the soldiers began to relax, unclenching their rifles and letting out long breaths of relief. More than one commented on the need to change their shorts.
The lead truck made its way slowly across the river and Thorton found himself studying the town across the bridge. In the background rose the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains and Thorton knew his road was nearly at an end.
Bumping off the rails, Major Thorton and his men took a break, stretching out and looking back the way they had come. The zombies kept trying to cross the railroad bridge and they fell and were washed away by the river. The ones who didn’t fall off were stuck in between the ties and had no way of figuring out how to get out.
As the men stretched and eased cramped muscles, the idle chatter began to die away as they looked around. The city was quiet, but every man there felt like they were being watched. Idle bits of debris lay scattered about and the papers picked up by the small breeze seemed unnaturally loud. Nervous hands held ready rifles and the men slowly spread out, guns at the ready. No threat was imminent, nothing manifested itself as danger, but in every man some forgotten instinct was screaming danger.
Thorton felt it himself, but he didn’t see it as an immediate danger. It was more of a palpable sense of death and decay. The men had crossed the river and were headed into the Appalachians and that was the barrier that kept back the worst of the darkness.
This land is dead. He thought. All of it.
No one escaped. He couldn’t help himself from these dark thoughts, so pervasive was the feeling of dread.
After a minute he shook his head to clear it and growled at his men. “Get back in the trucks. There’s nothing here. Stay sharp.” Thorton climbed back into his truck and the engines roared to life.
The convoy moved quickly through the city of Parkersburg, avoiding pockets of zombies that came out to play. This city looked long abandoned to the dead, having been overrun a long time ago. Outside of the city the convoy drove under Interstate 77, still full of rusting and abandoned cars. They had to make a small detour around a jam of about thirty cars. These people tried to get off the interstate and wound up causing an accident that stranded motorists for miles.
Thorton was daydreaming when he thought he saw a flash in between the trees on the north side of the road. He motioned for the driver to turn off the main road. “Thought I saw something. Turn here,” he said.
Corporal Halleman complied. A small sign for a subdivision pointed the way and Thorton motioned to follow the road to see where it led. He was hoping for a secluded area where he and his men could set up shop for the night.
What he didn’t expect to find was a living community. As they approached the main entrance, Thorton could see several curious onlookers coming out of their homes. The trucks stopped at the gate, which was just a series of chain-link fences lashed together. Thorton though he saw something orange in the trees and when he looked closer, he saw that the people had used the trees as fence posts and had strung up dozens of electrical extension cords as a fence. That was probably the smartest thing he had seen in a while.
He stepped out of the vehicle and approached the gate, noting the two men with shotguns sitting in the beds of large pickup trucks. Those men would already be under the aim of surreptitious guns from the trucks, so he had nothing to worry about. A young man around thirty came forward and Thorton noticed he was wearing a sidearm, a revolver of some type.
“Are you in charge?” Thorton asked as the man approached the gate.
“Yes. Name’s Bob Gull.” The man was thin but muscular, with graying brown hair and tired blue eyes.
“Major Thorton. Do you mind if my men come through your gate?” Ken asked politely.
“Hell, I never figured to see military again. Come on in. You can park them right over there.” He indicated a spot up the street.
The trucks came through the gate and parked over where they were supposed to. The men got out and formed loose groups, awaiting orders. About fifty people were gathering around the area, which looked to be something of a small crossroads.
Major Thorton waved Bob Gull over and the two men walked slowly together down the center street. Thorton was looking things over as he talked to Bob. Already he had seen several women that interested him and a young girl that especially caught his attention. She was a pretty brunette of about thirteen years of age. Perfect, Ken thought. Out loud, he said, “Have to admit I didn’t think anything would be back here.”
Bob Gull shrugged. “That’s probably what saved us. People who didn’t live around here passed us by and as the years started to go by, we saw less and less of them.”
“What about zombies?” Thorton asked, still walking.
“We still get a few from the city, but not as many as we used to. We’ve been expanding our fence a little each week and we just managed to enclose a pond nearby. Sure was nice not to have to climb the hills for water.” Bob Gull chuckled.
Thorton managed a smile. “How many people do you have here? I’m trying to get a tally for the rest of the survivors.”
“Right now we have sixty-seven. Sixty-eight if you count the woman who’s pregnant as two.”
“I will. What about supplies, weapons, that sort of thing, how are you situated?”
“We make runs to the city for supplies and such, but we’ve had to expand a little since some stuff has been running out. We have a few weapons and are really short on ammo. Could use some if you have it to spare. We’ve been trying to kill zombies with just hand weapons, lately.”
Thorton stopped in his walk and turned around to look at Bob. “Perfect.” was all he said.
Chapter 2
We left the two of Thorton’s men swinging in the breeze. Nate merely looked at them and grunted and Tommy just smiled and shook his head. Duncan was trying to look tough for Janna, but she was busy poring over the maps to pay him much mind.
I wasn’t as badly beaten as I had thought, apparently I had managed to block most of Kazinski’s punches or roll with them when they got through my defenses. When you’re used to not getting hit, the actual experience tends to make you exaggerate. I didn’t think at all about killing those men, they would have killed us and worse, given the chance.
We moved ahead on Route 50, but after a brief bit of driving, I announced to the crew that we were going to spend the day at rest as soon as I could find a decent spot. I had seen the haggard look on everyone’s faces and the events of the last day really were taking a toll. We had been through the wringer and I couldn’t just throw the team back into the fray without some sort of rest, be it physical or mental.
No one argued with me, so when I saw the sign for Blennerhasset Island, I figured it would be as good a place as any. We crossed the river and I followed a service road onto the island. The gate read ‘No Trespassing’, but I gently nudged the RV through, not worrying too much about the paint job. I followed the service road for about three hundred yards, then parked the RV in a grove of trees.
I looked back at Janna and said, “What kind of space have we got here?” She looked at me quizzically until Duncan pointed at the map.
“He’s asking how big the island is and if there are any more roads.” Duncan clarified.
“Ohh, okay. Hold on.” Janna flipped through a map and found a detailed section to look over. She did some mental calculation and said. “According to the scale, it’s about three miles long, kind of shaped like a wasp.”
I looked over at Tommy and Nate. “Works for me. You want scouting duty or water supply?”
Nate stood up and stretched his big arms. “You can walk. I’ll get the water. Duncan, you and Janna are on gun cleanup duty. Tommy, you better go with John in case he falls down or something.” Nate’s eyes twinkled and I blew a raspberry at him.
“Don’t get too wet, Granny,” I said, placing my M1A on the table alongside the other weapons Duncan was piling up. Janna just looked wide eyed at the weaponry and turned a cocked head at me.
“Where’d you guys get all the guns?” she asked, picking up my SIG. I had an identical one in my holster, only this one was made of stainless steel. It was heavier than my familiar one, but it handled recoil better.
“Pickups from dead homes and towns, mostly.” Duncan said, breaking out the cleaning kits. “Sometimes we trade for them. Depends.”
“Do a lot of the people you meet have guns?” she asked, as Tommy and I got ready to scout.
“Fact is,” I said, “the people most likely to survive the Upheaval had guns or were familiar with them before it all went south. So to answer your question, yes, most of them do.”
“We’re an armed, polite society now,” Duncan said, pulling the rear pin on an AR, opening the rifle.
Janna smiled while Tommy and I exited the RV. Nate had already gathered all the gallon jugs for refilling and was making his way to the river. He had four in each hand and more tucked under his arms. If he fell in now, he’d float to New Orleans before we could get him out.
Outside the RV, Tommy looked West and pointed out a line of smoke rising into the sky. It was thick and black and could be seen for miles.
“Wonder what idiot started that?” Tommy said.
I shrugged. “Not sure, but if they wanted to call in every zombie in the area, that’s one way to do it.”
“Should we investigate?”
I considered it for a second. “Not really our problem. I’d hate for it to be a fire started by s
ome stupid cat in a tire store and we go charging in to face hundreds of zombies for nothing.”
“Suits me. I hate backtracking.”
Tommy and I walked slowly along the service road, letting the sun shine on our faces and breathing in the river air that moved through the trees. I wasn’t carrying anything heavy, just my SIG and my pickaxe. Tommy was similarly attired. We were taking a chance, but since this was an island and the river was fairly swift at this junction, I wasn’t too worried about roaming zombies. If the water was shallow, like parts of the Missouri River, then I’d be more cautious, since the zombies could fairly walk across in dry weather. But since this was Ohio and it rained regularly, then the river was faster and deeper.
We walked across a cleared area, just starting to be regained by the vegetation. A small group of trees were clustered around the barely visible service road, so we couldn’t see anything beyond. On either side of us we could hear the river moving past and the thrum of insects and frogs became background noise to the walk.
Tommy and I didn’t speak, we just kept ourselves to our own thoughts as we walked along. We’d been through enough that we didn’t feel the need to blather on all day. Besides, if there were zombies about, two idiots discussing the weather would draw them like flies.
We moved cautiously through the trees and stopped as we took in the scene before us. Freshly tilled earth, in a swath a thousand feet long and five hundred feet wide, stretched from tree line to tree line. Whoever had done this had spent a good deal of time on it, as evidenced by the scarecrow in the field, standing guard over precious seeds.
“Okay. Well, that answers my first question,” Tommy said.
“Yes?” I prompted.
“Is this island inhabited?”
“I’d say so. I wonder what we might find behind door number two?” I pointed to the edge of the field, where two openings could be seen, one going north and one going south.
“One way to find out,” Tommy said.
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