by Micah Gurley
Abe nodded back and turned to make his bed. Once again, being at the end of the world didn't mean you could be sloppy. He finished his last fold, put his pack on his bunk, checked his rifle and latched his gun belt around his waist. He then placed the sword that Eric had given him on his waist and lashed the bottom of the sheath to his thigh. He felt like a warrior from legend, ready to face the world, ready to save someone. But then he actually thought about what was behind the walls and his enthusiasm died down. Everything ready, he walked next to his brother’s sleeping form.
"I'll get him up in a few minutes," James said, looking at Kyle. "He went to bed later than most."
"I'll go get some breakfast for us then," Abe said. He wondered why the big man was so protective of his brother. He was also surprised Kyle allowed James to act like that over him. Kyle was, in his own right, a well-trained soldier. In the end, he felt better having James watch over Kyle, because his brother could really get into some stupid situations.
***
Thirty minutes later Abe walked next to the ancient Peterbilt tractor Old Ben had lovingly restored and kept in mint condition. The truck, painted shiny black, easily stuck out, but who cared these days? Abe would be going with Old Ben, Patrick, Bill and his son Johnson, and the college kid, Jack. Six of them. Six of them would hit the small Costco, then connect the old truck to an empty trailer. Of course, they needed to fill it first, which was why most of the people were going to the store. The store was on the edge of town, so they hoped to avoid large groups of the diseased.
Abe found his brother checking magazines. With a dwindling amount or rounds, they'd each been given 7 magazines, with 28 rounds in each, which was about 20 percent of their ammo. The people staying at the fort would have the rest, but Kyle and James hoped to find more guns and ammo at the Coast Guard station.
"You ready?" Kyle asked as Abe walked up.
"I was born ready son," said Abe in a tough voice. Kyle laughed and pointed at Abe's magazine pouch.
"Did you check all of those and the action on your rifle?" asked Kyle
"Yes, mom."
"Good, and I know you cleaned your rifle, so it shouldn't jam, but just remember what to do if it does." He slid his magazine pouch to the side and looked at his brother in a serious face. "It's important to keep your rifle clean, much like everything else in your life. You’re getting sloppy Abraham, step it up."
"Aye, you're a funny one, me lad," Abe said in a bad Scottish accent.
"Irish?"
"Scottish," Abe replied.
"Needs work then," Kyle said and stood. He shook hands with his brother, turned and climbed in the Tahoe they'd be using. Abe followed his example and climbed up into the ancient Peterbilt cab. Behind the wheel, dressed in his best oily, blue jean overalls, sat Old Ben. Missing half his teeth and white hair sticking up, he might scare the diseased away. With a big grin, Old Ben fired the truck up and they pulled out.
Chapter 7
Kyle sat in the passenger's side of the Tahoe, letting James drive. They pulled away from the fort, the Peterbilt following a good pace back. The sun, having risen, promised a beautiful November day in the Carolinas. The Tahoe made its way slowly down the dirt path, which led from the fort, and through the state park. Kyle kept his eye out for any sign of the diseased, but Fort Macon was so far removed from town, they would almost have to be led there. He took a look in the rear view mirror to find the Shiny black Peterbilt following them out, its old school look giving it a sense of danger.
Kyle turned his eyes back around and thought about the container ship they saw last night. The group had talked about it some, throwing different conspiracy theories around, but no one had any realistic ideas. Why would they fire on them? No one had been able to remember what flag they'd been flying or get a good look at the people on the ship. It'd been to dark and no one had been thinking about any of those details at the time. Whatever it was, Kyle hoped it was just a mistake and not another problem for them.
Kyle cleared his thoughts and focused on what needed to happen today. He picked up the radio. "Macon, XR-1, radio check."
"Macon, XR-1, we've got you loud and clear," came the response from Eric, still not happy about being left in the fort with Edmund and the girls. "I'll be with you for a few minutes, then Edmund’s taking over the radio for today's exercises.
Kyle sighed at this. "Copy that Macon. XR-2, XR-1, radio check."
"Roger, Roger Rubber Ducky, give me that old man. XR-2 copies, loud and clear. Macon, XR-2 radio check."
"XR-2, Macon, loud and clear, Patrick don't let Old Ben give you any problem, he's a worthless old cuss," said Eric.
"Copy Loud and clear," said Patrick. Kyle listened to the exchange and wondered what would become of them if Patrick was the responsible one. "I'll keep the Old Guy in line. The force is with us."
"All right guys, here's the plan, "Kyle said, breaking in. They were nearing the end of the state park and there would start to be beach houses on either side of the road now. "James and I will lead you straight to the center of town, we'll pick up a crowd and then draw the diseased off, by which point you should be safe to continue on. You need get the truck there as soon as you can, while they’re distracted with us. Once your shopping is finished, you'll need another distraction to keep them from following you back to the plant. Copy?"
Kyle heard the radio click, but only heard breathing and whispering as they talked to each other. Kyle sighed, didn't they know he could still hear them? "Copy that XR-1, what about you?"
"We'll be fine, just get the food and other supplies I wrote for you, as much as you can, but if it gets to dicey, better to not engage if you don't have to."
"Copy that XR-1, good luck."
"Same to you XR-2, Macon, have Edmund stay on the horn in case we need him," Kyle said and hung up the receiver on the Tahoe's console. He leaned back in the truck as he listened to Macon's response and then turned to James. "You ready to cause a distraction?"
James looked at Kyle. "I've got no plans for today."
"James, did you just make a joke? Not a good one, but still a joke."
James turned back to the road and gave a small smile.
The Tahoe gave a bump as it hit paved road and James pressed the gas, building more speed. Sprawling three story beach houses lined the road, sitting deserted next to the ocean. Kyle looked at the speedometer, 35 miles per hour. They'd be reaching the edge of town soon, already diseased could be seen walking aimlessly among the houses.
The town of Oak Island wasn't that big during the winter, with about 40,000 people calling it home. During the summer however, the town would balloon to about four times that size. Kyle was grateful it was low season, but forty thousand, or anything close to that, would swallow them like a Tsunami wave. They'd just have to play it by ear and hope for the best.
Diseased were everywhere. Their slow, awkward gait changing as they heard the trucks go by. Kyle noticed a diseased undergo this transition as they drew closer. It's head popped up, it's nose in the air; smelling, it turned its head slowly back and forth. It started walking into the road, the left side of its body hunched over, right hand raised in the air as if pointing. It unexpectedly lunged, and James swerved but edged the man with the bumper. The diseased flew away from the truck, leaving a spray of blood down the side of the vehicle.
James slowed further, the road filling with diseased. They stumbled everywhere, sometimes alone, sometimes in small groups, seemingly lost and without a goal. It all changed once they heard the trucks; they had a purpose again. Kyle, forcing down his panic of not being in control and held on to the door as James swerved back and forth on the road. It was becoming harder and harder to drive, the diseased were joining together, forming a mob. James slowed again, they couldn't afford the Tahoe to break down in the middle of the road. They'd never survive.
"Okay, let's pull ahead of the others and start drawing them to us. Honk the horn some." He picked up the radio. "XR2, XR-1, when we start mak
ing some noise, turn the truck off and drift for awhile, hopefully that should get most of them coming after us, copy?"
"XR-1, XR-2 copies, good luck."
"Now," said Kyle as he unbuckled his seat belt and hit the button for the sunroof to start retracting. Gusts of putrid, burnt air rushed through the Tahoe and Kyle angled his way out of the top of the Tahoe, his upper body fully outside. He brought his rifle out and turned around to face the Peterbilt behind him.
Aiming while someone was swerving was impossible at best, but Kyle braced his legs on the seats below and started firing towards the big truck. He just hoped he wouldn't actually miss and hit the thing. He didn't think Old Ben would forgive him, but he needed to draw the diseased after him if this was going to work. Kyle cringed at the loud, irritating sound of the Tahoe's horn as James swerved and made their way through town.
The rifle clicked and Kyle ejected the magazine, letting if fall into the Tahoe before grabbing another from his pouch, which was hanging from his body. In less than three minutes, he'd gone through 28 rounds. At that rate, he'd be out In 30 minutes, and might as well turn himself in so the diseased could have lunch. He still needed to keep their attention, so he didn't stop. As James kept driving, Old Ben's diesel engines had gone quiet and it had rolled to a stop. Kyle still spotted a few diseased around the truck, but not many. Most were following him. Thousands trailed the slow moving Tahoe as it made its way through town.
"We need to pick up speed to avoid those closing from the front," boomed James from inside. With a last wave at the truck, Kyle turned in the seat and almost peed his pants. Diverging from both sides of the road were hundreds, thousands of diseased. They came from everywhere, their growls and moans easily heard over the rush of wind.
"Do it!" Kyle screamed. "Get in front of them, then we'll make sure they’re following us." Kyle barely finished his sentence as the Tahoe surged forward, its back end dropping down as the big V8 thrummed with power. Kyle slipped back down through the roof and into the front seat. He set his rifle aside; using it now wouldn't accomplish anything, and he needed to save all the ammo he could.
"Hold on," said James, his voice strained. The Tahoe swerved to avoid hitting a pack of diseased that formed together, but ran into two standing in their path. The truck shook at the impact, a line of blood spattering across the windshield like a piece of modern art. James pushed the gas again, barely making it past the main intersection in town, before it filled with diseased.
Thousands of them stumbled through town, mainly not walking on the road, but straight toward the direction of the noise, which kept moving. The diseased kept changing directions, but most didn't stay on the road, a fortunate thing for James and Kyle. Most, but not all. In front of the truck, a thin wall of them, too slow to change directions, walked right towards them.
"Hold on," James said again, though Kyle's body was so tense, he couldn’t imagine being able to clutch something any tighter. James kept his speed up, then slammed on the break and hit the thin line of diseased at 20 mph, enough to knock them back, but not cause major damage to the truck. The truck shook from the impact of the diseased, but James floored the gas pedal, and the faithful truck surged ahead again, now to an open road. They'd made it through town.
Kyle, forcing himself to breath, couldn't remembering ever going through something like that before, even in the army. His heart, racing like a cheetah, felt like it might jump out of his chest. He took two more breaths, then said reluctantly, "We need to keep them following us. Get ahead of them and I'll lead them. Pied piper time."
For the next 10 minutes, James sped up and slowed down, sometimes honking his horn, sometimes letting Kyle shoot a few of them. Behind the Tahoe, a horde of diseased followed, their growls and moans rolling over them like a tidal wave. Packed so tight together, the slower ones would fall, crushed, never having the opportunity to stand up again. Kyle popped out of the sunroof and took a minute to view the fading town. Devastation. It was the only word Kyle could think of to describe what he was seeing. Half of the building were burnt completely to the ground, their smoldering ruins still smoking. Other places still stood, some looking completely normal, as if a blood sacrifice had been painted on their doors, and the plague passed by. Kyle just hoped the Costco still stood, the group needed food. Now, he just needed to get back alive and without leading the horde to the fort.
"We're a mile or so from the Coast Guard station. We need to get there a few minutes before this horde."
"Copy," responded James. The whole day, he'd never asked Kyle what they were doing, what the game plan was. He let Kyle plan all of it. Kyle had tried to explain, but James just shook his head. Kyle would never understand him, but didn't have the time to psychoanalyze. This next part would be the trickiest.
After some final directions, and two turns, they arrived outside a 10 foot fence with wide open gates. Above the gate, a white sign read U.S. Coast Guard station Oak Island.
"We're in luck, the gate is open, turn the Tahoe around, pointing back in the direction we came from." While James did this, Kyle hopped out with his rifle and a bag he'd prepared. He closed one of the gates and latched it into the ground. Kyle looked up to find that James had finished turning the truck. "Alright, get what you need, we're saying goodbye to this thing."
James didn't respond, but grabbed his rifle, bag and a pair of binoculars that were on the dash, and slid out of the driver's seat. He moved back, as Kyle reached around the seat and pulled out a red brick, with traces of mortar still stuck to it. Kyle studied the console in the middle of the truck and flipped two switches. The first switch turned on the blue police lights on the roof of the Tahoe. The lights, never actually used at the plant, were more for show, but they did work. The second switch, this one also never used, blared a police siren out of speakers attached to the roof. The noise sped Kyle up, as he didn't want to be around the truck when the horde showed up. Standing outside the truck, he put one hand on the break, using his other to put the big truck in drive. He felt it start to move and pressed harder on the brake pedal. He then placed the brick on the pedal and wedged it down. Before he had time to consider, the Tahoe jumped forward, knocking Kyle in the side of the chest and out of the vehicle.
****
James watched as the big white Tahoe sped off, Kyle still stuck inside it. Kyle, not quick enough to get out or not realizing what was going to happened, was hit by the door jam and thrown backwards, the back tires barely missing his head as the vehicle accelerated without a driver.
James took a knee and examined Kyle; out cold. Kyle hadn't told him his plan, James hadn't even wanted to know at the time, but it seemed obvious now. James leaned down, grabbing the back of Kyle's collar and dragged him inside of the open gate. James didn't check on the moving truck or look to see if the diseased found the road. He just acted, getting it done.
James slammed the gate shut, picked up a heavy chain left on the ground, and weaved it through both sides of the gate. He found an open lock and clicked it shut, sealing himself and Kyle inside the wobbly fence. He picked us Kyle's rifle and pack in one arm, grabbed the still unconscious Kyle with the other and started dragging him across the parking lot, to the white building near the water.
The building was only one story and wasn't big from the outside. A pair of glass doors served as the entrance. Surrounding the building was a small attempt at a flower garden, though only a few scraggily trees were planted. James threw the bags to one side and laid Kyle down in the empty flower garden, placing the bags over his inert form. He needed to be able to have his hands free for the next part. He placed both rifles next to Kyle and pulled out the short sword that Kyle wore. He also pulled out a large, black bladed knife he kept on his hip and entered the building.
The glass door pulled back without a sound, a small gust of rancid, stale air filling his lungs as he inspected the inside of the darkened building. He couldn't see much. In front of him, an empty reception desk sat in disarray, next to it another doorway
that led to the main building. James let the door close, keeping his hand on it to stop it from closing too quickly. He faced the open doorway and moved to the side, getting a better angle to look into the building. Shadows mixed with beams of sunlight to give the large room an unearthly feeling. James moved forward, needing to get this over with.
The next room, the main space of the office, was a large room converted into a working area, complete with portioned work spaces made from chest, high movable walls. A standard office. The main aisle, directly in front of James, was situated between a wall and the work area. Down the aisle, grouped together on the floor, four diseased waited. Their heads snapped up as James’ boot scuffed a cable cover lying on the floor. James watched the four diseased stand, lift their heads in the air and advance towards him. He moved slightly to the left, placing his back near one of the walls, and waited for them to come.
The dark room didn't make it easy for James to make out details, but he could see all four of the diseased wore a similarly dark blue uniform, with their names stitched on them. Coast Guard. James watched the four closing on him, his heart starting to beat quickly, like it always did before he entered a fight. It was an old, comfortable feeling, one he hadn't felt it a long time and part of him relished it, like welcoming an old friend home. The downside was the fear it came from, which James easily pushed aside. He'd faced worst. The four diseased almost seemed hesitant at first, unsure of what they'd found. Then, as if a switch had been flipped, they attacked.
James needed to space them, to create room to deal with them one at a time, so he front kicked the closest one to him. It was a woman, a small woman, not weighting more than 100 pounds and the kick sent her flying into the person behind her. Two to deal with now. James lunged forward, with the short sword he'd taken from Kyle, and planted the steel directly in the eye socket of one of the men. He felt the sides of the blade scrape bone as it easily slid through the grey flesh of the diseased. It came to a sudden stop and James performed a front kick again, pulling the bloodied blade out as the man flew back, dead.
