by Joe McKinney
Something rustled in the grass behind them. It was Sheriff Taylor, coming up between the tanks, a black, mean-looking rifle in his hands. It looked sort of like an AR-15 with a collapsible stock, but it had a long, built-in suppressor on the muzzle and flip-up tactical sights. Jacob thought he’d seen every rifle in Arbella, but that one was a surprise
Jacob gestured at the rifle. What’s that?
Taylor shook his head as if to tell him not now. The others were watching them from the storefront windows, crouched down out of sight. From somewhere behind the building, one of the horses caught the scent of the dead and snorted in fear.
Out on the road, several of the zombies turned toward the propane tanks and picked up their pace.
“Damn it,” Taylor muttered. “Gonna have to go tactical.”
“You can’t shoot that many of them,” Jacob said. “All the shots will attract every zombie in the area.”
Taylor winked at him. “Just trust the old man, would you?”
Moving in a crouch Taylor stepped onto the road. A few zombies saw him and began to moan. But before they had a chance to start the feeding call that would attract even more of their numbers, Taylor began to fire.
There was no muzzle flash, no loud crack. The gun was nearly silent. It made a noise like somebody quietly snapping their fingers each time Taylor shot. And clearly, it was deadly accurate, for within seconds, motionless corpses surrounded Taylor, dark humps against the road.
Taylor scanned the countryside and, evidently satisfied, raised the rifle and calmly walked back to the storefront.
Jacob followed after him. “What the hell was that?”
Taylor smiled. “The old dog’s still got a few tricks.”
“No kidding. Where did you get that rifle?”
“A little something from before the First Days. Part of my private stash.”
“I thought I’d seen every rifle in town, but I’ve never seen anything like that. What is it?”
“A Colt M4 carbine with a built-in suppressor. I railed it up a bit, but deep down it’s just your standard M4.”
“Those shots . . . it was so quiet.”
“Special ammo. It’s a 300 Blackout round, subsonic.”
Jacob shook his head and laughed. The old man really did know how to make a splash. And then he saw the magazine sticking up from Taylor’s belt. On the bottom of it was a white sticker with a happy face on it. Jacob pointed at it. “Never would have thought you’d have a sense of humor about bullets.”
Taylor saw him pointing at the magazine and his expression turned serious. He stripped the magazine from the M4 and ejected the round from the chamber. Next he visibly and physically checked the weapon to make sure it was empty and then slid it back into his saddlebags.
He held out the two magazines, the one he’d just ejected from the weapon and the one with the smiley face, and said, “Look at those. Tell me what you see.”
They appeared identical. That is, until Jacob turned the magazines upside down and examined the bullets loaded there. In the low light it was hard to tell what he was supposed to be looking for, but then he saw it. The bullets in the magazine with the happy face were a different caliber. They were bigger. Not by much, but definitely bigger.
Jacob looked at Taylor in surprise. Bigger bullets like these would seat into the chamber just like the properly sized bullets, but if it was fired, it would jam up in the barrel and probably blow up in the shooter’s face. At the very least, it would ruin the gun.
“Why do you have these?” he asked Taylor.
“It’s a nasty surprise if anybody ever gets the gun away from me and tries to use it on our people. When you get to be sheriff, this’ll be your gun. Remember that.”
Then he put both magazines in his bag, took a seat against the wall, and said, “Wake me up when the coffee’s ready, okay?” And with that he lowered the brim of his hat down over his eyes and settled into sleep.
9
The encounter made them cautious, and it was slow going after that, just as Jacob had predicted. Morale remained high. But Bree Cheney, the pretty young blonde Frank Hartwell was so taken with, turned out to be the biggest surprise of all. Jacob had been a little worried about her before they started out, because she’d seemed so terribly nervous about what they might encounter, but she took to the trail right away.
At one point, just before sundown on the third day, she’d gone to the edge of the roadway—there was actual pavement still visible at that point—and faced the setting sun. A cool wind blew across the grassland, making it move like a sea of molten brass. Frank had brought his horse up next to Jacob’s so they could study the map a bit, but the sight of Bree on horseback, her hair filled with burning orange light, had completely thrown him over.
She turned suddenly, her smile beaming. “Isn’t it beautiful?” she said.
“Yes, it is,” Frank had said. “Yes, indeed it is.”
Jacob had chuckled at that, and then went back to his map.
The other big surprise was that the horses were managing the tall grasses without any real trouble, and everybody seemed to be doing okay with the long rides. He hadn’t heard any complaints at all.
Except for Nick, of course. From Nick there were complaints aplenty. He was a decent rider, but made little secret of his low opinion of horses. His horse, a rugged little six-year-old piebald mare, seemed to share a similar lack of respect for him. The horse absolutely refused to cross the numerous streams left behind from the rainstorms that kept them stuck in Arbella for the whole of March and early April. Even small ones made the animal nervous. The horse would be doing fine, then suddenly rear back at the water’s edge and fidget around like she was terrified of getting her hooves wet. The constant battles grated on Nick’s nerves and more than once resulted in him threatening to punch the animal in the nose. Jacob suspected the mare was just trying to show him who was boss, and Max and Eli even told him as much, but rider and horse proved too hardheaded to give in to the other. They ended up falling into a rhythm where either Eli or Max would come up alongside the animal, grab the reins, and coax the mare through the stream. It irritated Nick to need the help, but it got them along.
And in the evenings, while they couldn’t risk a campfire, they had Kelly’s homemade gin to ease the bumps and bruises of the day. All in all, Jacob went into those first few days with the feeling that they had this thing in the bag.
But of course it didn’t last.
They ran into trouble shortly after setting out on the fifth day. They’d had gloriously good weather for the first part of their trek, and it had spoiled them. Then it started to rain. It wasn’t much, at first, but the clouds grew darker and darker, and the rain went from a mild shower to an apocalyptic event. The wind picked up. Rain lashed at their faces like shards of glass. Jacob pulled a tarp over his head and pinched it close beneath his chin. Turning to look down the line of riders, he saw the others doing the same.
The horses grew skittish. Nick’s mare turned into a devil and got so uncontrollable that Max had to hand his pack animal off to Eli so that he could come up alongside to help control the horse.
Still, the animal bucked and snorted every time lightning fired in the distance.
After watching Nick get nearly thrown from his mount, Jacob made his way to the rear of the column and found Sheriff Taylor there, horse and rider with their heads down, trudging forward.
“I want to stop us up ahead,” Jacob said. “There’s an abandoned gas station there we can use to get out of the weather.”
“Sounds good,” said Taylor.
Jacob waited for more, but there was none. He regarded the man’s quiet resilience and wondered if it was fortitude or merely bluster. Surely he had to be as miserable as the rest of them. Yet there was that iron look in his eye, and that flat, unflappable confidence in his voice, which always gave Jacob pause. You don’t develop a reputation as the George Washington of your people without earning it, he thought, and maybe thi
s was how you did it.
He turned his mare and headed back up the line.
“Listen up,” he said. He had to yell to be heard over the wind. “There’s an old gas station up ahead here. We’re gonna stop there and wait out this weather. Is everybody doing okay?”
He heard grunts and grumblings from the others, which was good enough for him.
“All right,” he said. “We’re almost there.”
10
They reached the gas station two hours later.
It was a rundown affair, barely more than a shell of the building it had once been. Grass crowded up against its walls, and trash lay thick on the floor. Shrubs were trying to grow through the broken windows and there was a faint, but noticeable, odor of rot and mildew. But they had just slogged through muddy rivers that had once been roads and had their faces lashed by rain, and they were glad for the shelter.
They tied up the horses under the awning that covered the gas pumps and most of the others went inside to push the trash out of the way so they had someplace to sleep. Jacob climbed on top of one of the gas pumps and scanned the distance. The rain made it impossible to see very far. The sky was so gray as to be almost black, and he could see flashes of lightning sparking on the horizon all around them.
“Looks like we’re not going anywhere for a while,” he said. Taylor was watching him from the doorway. “What do you think? Shall we just call this camp for the night?”
“Might as well,” Taylor said. He gestured toward the garage bays. “We’re blind to the west, though. Anything coming at us from that direction would be on us before we knew it. You’ll need to post extra lookouts to cover that.”
“Agreed,” Jacob said.
“Also, I want you to have everyone turn out their gear and make sure nothing got wet that wasn’t supposed to. That storm came up on us fast and I know some of these folks haven’t been all that careful packing their kits.”
“Okay. Sure.”
Taylor nodded and went inside without saying another word.
Nick came up behind Jacob. “What’s that all about?”
“What’s what all about?”
Nick gestured toward the doorway Taylor had just slipped through. “You and him. Trouble?”
“Why would there be trouble?”
Nick shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Of course you do. You said it. What did you mean? Why would there be trouble?”
“Well, we’ve got two leaders. Supposed to have two, anyway. But from where I’m standing it looks like he’s treating you more like a first officer than a partner.”
“That’s not what’s happening,” Jacob said flatly.
Nick shrugged again.
“It’s not,” Jacob said.
“Okay. I’m just telling you what it looks like from over here.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not.”
Nick looked out across the rain-swept parking lot and sighed. “I just think you need to be careful is all. The whole point of this was to help you transition into the sheriff’s job. You can’t do that if he’s never gonna step down.”
“The point of this is not to make me sheriff.”
“You know what I mean. The point of having you guys share leadership of this expedition. That was a mistake, if you ask me.”
“He either came along or we didn’t go. Both he and the council made that plain.”
“That’s just the council doing what he tells them.”
“Nick, where’s this coming from? If you had all these doubts, why’d you come?”
“Look, I’m not trying to start anything. I’m just thinking out loud. But I will say that you need to start thinking about who’s actually in charge around here. Because so far, it looks like Taylor’s using your opportunity for transition as his last stab at glory.”
“How can you say that? He’s not a glory hound.”
Nick laughed. “Jacob, if you believe that, you don’t know much about leadership. You really think a hero like Taylor over there is gonna sit back, content in his dotage, while some young hotshot steps in and takes all the glory?”
Jacob had no words. He just shook his head in exasperation.
“Just think about it. That’s all I’m saying. Pay attention to what’s coming.”
Nick walked inside and left Jacob feeling angry and defensive, mainly because now that the words had been said out loud he knew them to be true. He’d seen it back in Arbella, during their meetings, and he’d seen it in little exchanges like the one he’d just had, ever since they took to the trail. Nick was right about one thing: Something would have to be done about it.
He sighed and turned to watch the rain sweep in silvery sheets across the road.
Gradually, he became aware of Max and Eli lurking near the door.
“What’s up?” he said over his shoulder.
“Hey, boss, is it true we’re camping here tonight?” Max said.
“Yep.”
“You mind if we get the horses cleaned up?”
“Yeah,” Jacob said. “Here, I’ll give you a hand.”
11
After helping Max and Eli with the horses, Jacob went inside to make himself something to eat. Kelly and Barry were off in a corner, setting up their equipment. Andy Dawson had one of his journals open on his knees and was busy scribbling notes about the ride. And over by the entrance to the garage bays, Bree was giggling at something Frank Hartwell had just told her.
Jacob couldn’t help smiling at that.
A month ago, hell even a few days ago, he would have told Frank he was just a big hairy dog barking up the wrong tree, but to Jacob’s surprise, Bree seemed to enjoy the older man’s attentions. They’d become quite comfortable together, in fact, usually riding side by side on the trail.
The way Jacob figured it he didn’t have much reason to be surprised. Frank was twenty-three years older than Bree, true enough, but that wasn’t that weird. The day-to-day reality of life in Arbella had led to stranger unions, to be sure. If old Frank got cozy with a hot young blonde, more power to him. Plus, it was fun to watch Nick grumble about being cock blocked.
After a meal of peppered beef jerky and dried apricots, he arranged the lookout schedule, found a spot in the corner, pulled his hat down low over his eyes, and drifted toward sleep thinking about what Nick had told him. Maybe it was true what he said about Taylor using this expedition for his own glory, and maybe it was just Nick lashing out in frustration because Frank was taking the woman Nick had wanted for himself. He’d just have to wait and see.
But there was no use trying to worry it all out now. He’d learned back in his days with the salvage teams to get sleep when he could, and so he settled into his corner spot and went to sleep with the music of the rain playing on the roof.
12
When he woke it was dark and the rain had stopped.
He pushed his hat back in place and listened, straining his senses against the night, unsure exactly what had brought him out of sleep. Outside, the horses were nervous. He could hear them bumping against each other and the gas pumps. A metal sign hanging from a chain by the doorway moved in the breeze and rattled against the wall. He felt an odd humming in his teeth, like a vibration. It was so subtle he thought maybe he was imagining it, or maybe he was getting sick, but then he noticed Andy Dawson’s pen moving across the cover of his notebook. It was turning slightly with the vibration, which was getting stronger.
Not louder, because there was no sound, just stronger.
Soon the others stirred.
“What’s going on?” Kelly asked.
“Shhh,” Taylor said. He was standing near the door, rifle at the ready. He looked back at the others and held up his left fist, the sign to go to hand signals only.
Jacob was on his feet, rifle in hand, in the next instant.
The others followed his lead.
The vibration was growing stronger, and it was starting to hurt. The filling in Jacob’s tooth felt like it was trying to rat
tle itself loose.
Andy let out a whimper.
The rear windows suddenly filled with four bright white lights. The lights drew up close to the building and stopped. Max took a few steps toward the window, his hands up in front of his face to shield his eyes.
“What in the hell . . . ?”
Jacob grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back. “Get down,” he said. “All of you.”
But before any of them could move, the lights slowly and silently rose into the air and disappeared, dropping them into near darkness again.
Only the vibration remained, and that continued to get stronger and more painful. Andy’s pen was almost dancing on the floor. One window still held a shard of glass in its frame, and that suddenly popped and fell to the floor. The tin cup from somebody’s mess kit rattled on a plywood shelf before it too fell to the floor. A worn metal sign secured to the door to the garage rattled hard against its bolts, then broke them, and flew to the ceiling. So did the tin cup, and forks and spoons and everything metal in the room.
There was a loud click, like heavy gears falling into place, and then a blinding flash of light hit the entire building. Nobody moved. Nobody spoke. Jacob was so scared he felt like his feet had grown roots, holding him firmly in place. He tried to look out the window, but it hurt too badly and he had to turn away.
Then there came another loud click and the flood of light changed to a softer, but just as brilliant pattern of colored lights that moved away to the south. All the metal that had rushed to the ceiling came crashing back down to the floor.
A moment later, Taylor and Jacob were rushing out the door, pushing their way through the thoroughly terrified horses and out onto the road.
Gliding silently about a hundred feet off the ground was an immense airship. It seemed to take forever to pass overhead. More and more of it came into view. Every inch of it sparkled with colored lights. Jacob thought he saw something black and long and made of metal under the lights, like a long rectangular box, but it was impossible to tell for sure. And then a loud series of pops, like the wind catching a sail, filled the air. The colored lights suddenly went dark, and vast cloth sails, like wings, lowered into place.
