The Hunt Chronicles (Volume 3): Crusade

by Demers, J. D.

“Ahh, bullshit,” he barked. “You can second guess yourself for the next ten years if you want. Wallow in pity all day long, and it won’t change a damn thing. The fact is, it was one tough ass fight. People die in combat, kid. It is a harsh reality.”

  “If I would have stayed in here,” I said, waving my arms around the Stryker, “Maybe it would have played out differently.”

  Fish huffed and shook his head.

  “It would have. Dobson would have probably died a lot sooner. Pitman and Jenna would have either been killed or infected. Yeah, good thing you didn’t sit on your ass.”

  “You think I’m the reason why they didn’t die?” I scoffed.

  “You were the variable, kid. They are in every fight and every decision. Sometimes you can control them, sometimes you just have to react. But in the end, one decision, one choice, one man, or even one bullet can change the outcome of a fight. I’ve seen a man get a weapon jammed and when they ducked down to fix it, were missed by a sniper. It’s the way of war, kid.”

  I slumped, not willing to accept it. How can you accept the death of friends?

  Fish laid back down and clasped his hands behind his head.

  “Kid, you need to take that guilt you carry on your shoulders, ball it up, and toss it off a cliff. You’re smart, and it will only make you second guess yourself.”

  “Don’t you ever second guess yourself?” I asked softly.

  He didn’t answer.

  Other than the mosquitos, nothing came out to eat us that night. The next morning started slow. Campbell searched the map for the closest town but realized that there just weren’t any. They flew one of the drones and found a couple of farmsteads nearby, and decided to check out those locations for materials.

  DJ, Preacher, Fish, and Enrique took Big Red and were gone for most of the day.

  I spent my time tending to Jenna and Boomer.

  The effects of Jenna’s concussion had all but gone away. Her body was bruised from the car wreck and her head was swollen, but other than that, she was on her feet. I stumbled over my words as I explained how Daniel died. She stayed silent as I spoke and after I finished, she asked for some time alone.

  Doctor Tripp had fulfilled her promise and spoken to the Captain. Campbell approached me late in the afternoon to discuss the proposal.

  I was near the center of the bridge, sitting on the concrete with Boomer nestled beside me. Karina was next to me, trying her hand at fishing. More than once her hook got snagged on a floating branch or marsh bushes and we had to cut the line.

  “Christian,” Campbell said as he walked up to me.

  “Sir?”

  He took a knee and clasped his hand on his thigh.

  “Doctor Tripp asked me about the possibility of searching for your sister.”

  I pursed my lips before I spoke. I couldn’t read what he was thinking.

  “Yes, sir. It was something I was going to bring back up to Major Dobson…before he…”

  “I understand,” he sighed. “Look, I’m not going to make any promises. We will see how things develop while we’re on the road. If it’s viable, we will take a look. Maybe get within range of the drones or something.”

  Deciding it was better to let those cards play out rather than push harder, I smiled and nodded.

  “Thanks, Captain. That means a lot to me.”

  “As much as I want to say it is all about you, Christian, I have other motives,” the Captain said passively.

  “What do you mean, sir?”

  Campbell took in a deep breath and exhaled before he replied.

  “The Major and I had convinced Coleman to join us. Having a pilot of any sort is a bonus. We were, however, going to check out Eglin Air Force Base.”

  “That’s near my parent’s town,” I pointed out.

  “I know,” he nodded. “If we were able to procure a C130 or another decent aircraft, we were going to try to fly as far as the winds would take us. I am not sure how much of an option that is anymore.”

  “A lot would have to go into planning that,” I said dryly. “I mean, flying means a working aircraft, fuel…and most import of all, a place to land.”

  “That is why we need to examine it thoroughly before we decide to move forward with that idea. Either way, the choice is days, maybe weeks away. While we’re in the area, though, if we can, we’ll look up your family.”

  He rose, patted my shoulder and left.

  “What was he talking about?” Karina asked, plopping down next to me. Boomer squirmed and laid his head on her lap.

  “He was sort of agreeing to go check on my sister.”

  “Trinity?” she asked.

  “Yeah…” I glanced at her fishing pole leaning against the railing. “Giving up?”

  “No point,” she shrugged. “Nothing’s biting.”

  “Hey, that’s a good thing these days,” I grinned.

  She returned the smile and then her face darkened.

  “What if…what if you find her and she’s...dead? Or a scab?”

  I thought about that as I ran my fingers through the fur on Boomer’s tail.

  “Then I guess she’s dead. Knowing, I think, will be better than not knowing.”

  “What about your mom and dad?” she pressed. “What if they’re not dead?”

  I smiled. “Little chance of that, Karina. I told you, my mom was sick.”

  “So were you,” she pointed out.

  “True, but they were at the hospital. I don’t think they would have made it out either way.”

  “You never know,” she said hopefully. “Daniel was at a FEMA camp when Jenna rescued him. Anything is possible.”

  I almost said “But Daniel’s dead now,” but stopped.

  Suddenly, I was angry at myself for thinking that. Was I getting used to losing people? That was one adjustment I did not want to make.

  We stayed on the bridge for a few more days. DJ took people with him on multiple runs, gathering equipment, food, and working on a new bumper for Big Red.

  And this one was a little more creative.

  He took parts from some type of farming harvester called a “Cleat”. It had twelve teeth angled downward and its own wheels to keep it stabilized, though he spent some time welding on reinforcing strips of steal to make it sturdier. Its green and yellow paint threw off Big Reds current color pallet with its traditional fire engine red and the grey armor plating. The front wheels acted like a cog, spinning tiny blades between the teeth. He said it should grind up zombie legs just fine, but scab traps may pose a problem.

  Above the Cleat, he added an angled shovel. It blocked anything that survived the initial impact from climbing over the new bumper.

  It made Big Red appear ominous. If zombies felt fear, I’m sure they would run from it.

  Pittman was nearly one hundred percent. His swelling had gone down and his stitches were healing.

  Sheriff Green’s lisp, it appeared, came from his lack of front teeth. It was awkward listening to the hardened law enforcement officer talk. He was the same tough man, but still, I had to suppress a laugh more than once when he spoke. Karina on the other hand, couldn’t stop herself. His nose would forever be crooked, but the black and blue bruising around his eyes had begun to fade.

  Physically, Jenna made a full recovery. I feared for her mental health, though. She became distant. Not just to me, but to everyone. Daniel’s death hit her pretty hard. Accepting that he had died while protecting her was eating her away inside.

  Jenna’s distancing herself allowed me to focus on going to Crestview. Under different circumstances, I might have pressed her to talk or open up to me. It was better this way. Jenna was a strong woman and would not have liked my coddling.

  I examined every map we had of Crestview, attempting to find the best way to my parents’ house that wouldn’t be through any largely populated areas. It wasn’t hard. Crestview had a population of about twenty thousand, but it was spread out over their entire county. It was a rural area, and the
only heavily built up place was near the center of town.

  Not one time during the five days we stayed on the bridge did a zombie or scab come around. I considered it the eye of the hurricane. Death, destruction and evil were all around, but we were safe.

  On the last day, Jenna, Fish and I went hunting and shot a deer. We didn’t talk much as we trudged through the thick woods and marshy grounds. Fish was there to babysit me, and wanted nothing to do with any conversation Jenna and I had. A few times I tried to change her mood with light humor, but she simply gave a fake smile and continued searching for prey.

  Jenna appeared to be digging an emotional hole for herself.

  We spent the afternoon cooking up half of the meat and smoking the rest. Something about fresh meat lifted everyone’s spirits. Even Jenna seemed to cheer up. We fed ourselves until we were full, a rarity those days.

  The trip was already taking longer than expected. Our initial estimate was that we would be at Hoover Dam by the end of August. We were already close to that date and we were barely halfway through Florida.

  DJ was in regular contact with Camp Holly during our stay on the bridge. They were doing well, and it was nice to hear that Rachel’s pregnancy, so far, was without complications.

  Five days in the same location had given us the break we needed. Fresh meat and full bellies, along with a few dips in the river to wash up had cleansed our souls. For most of us, the death of our friends had been pushed to the back of our minds.

  On the last night, we packed everything in preparation for our departure except the fencing. That would be picked up in the morning right before we left.

  Doctor Tripp called Campbell, Fish, DJ and me into the CDC bus while everyone else was securing the vehicles for travel. The mosquitos were out in full force during twilight and it was nice to get a break from being outside.

  “What’s this about,” DJ asked as we all got comfortable near the Doctor’s desk.

  “It’s about the arm Fish gave me,” Doctor Tripp replied as she brought up a few images on her laptop.

  “What about it?” Fish asked.

  She maneuvered the mouse to one image and expanded it. It was an image of Tikel’s left arm. The limb was blackened and crispy from the grenade, but otherwise intact. Four holes were annotated by white circles. The cursor bounced between the annotations as she spoke.

  “This arm was shot four times, other than the slug that amputated it from the humerus bone. It was quite a lucky shot, now that I think about it. The shotgun hit right in the joint, essentially popping it out of place. I would say the slug smacked the bone, cracking and dislodging the hinge. The bullet itself appeared to splinter and shredded the muscle and tendon fibers.”

  Fish pointed at the screen.

  “Doc, that wasn’t luck, it was some sort of miracle the arm wasn’t simply blown all the way off. It’s a wonder he didn’t die from blood loss from that wound alone.”

  “It wasn’t a miracle. It was the new physiological design of the specimen.”

  “The what?” Fish cringed. If there was one thing Fish could not stand, it was doctor speak.

  Doctor Tripp sighed.

  “I’ll start from the beginning. We know the M Supercells change parts of the brain, regrow needed muscles, and even organs required to function. That’s true not only for the Zulus, but for the scabs as well. It would appear they also generate reinforcements for the skeletal structure, particularly in strategic areas like the limbs. That’s why the slug from the shotgun merely cracked the bone, rather than shattering it like it would have for you or me.”

  “So, we can start calling scabs Wolverines,” I commented. That earned irritating glares from both Fish and Doctor Tripp.

  “You know, adamantium? The thing that makes Wolverine’s bones indestructible?” I asked with a raised eyebrow.

  “Shut up, kid,” Fish grumbled.

  Doctor Tripp smiled.

  “Not exactly. Their bones are stronger. I would put it at two or three times the density of a normal human bone. Not indestructible, but they can definitely take more abuse than our own.”

  Campbell leaned forward and glared at a zoomed-in picture of the hinge joint.

  “Okay, so it didn’t shatter. How do you know the bullet splintered? In order for that to happen, the bone would have to be made of iron.”

  “I don’t really know that. I’m guessing. Remember, I’m not a forensic scientist,” she replied and zoomed into the damaged area. “The muscles were cut near the injury, not blown apart by the kinetic impact.”

  “Doc, you’re starting to irritate me,” Fish said as he took a step back. “Okay, their bones are stronger. That doesn’t explain why Tikel was able to take a hundred rounds and his organs kept working. Scabs are living, not dead. Without workable lungs or a heart, Tikel should have been dead before he made it to the canal. He should have bled to death in the first minute with the pounding we gave him.”

  “That’s because I do not believe most or any of the rounds made it to his vital organs or did anything more than superficial damage,” Doctor Tripp said, a hint of condescension in her voice.

  DJ shook his head.

  “I hit that big bastard ten times, maybe more. The 762 round is powerful and will go through steel. Heck, it will go through most Kevlar.”

  Doctor Tripp smiled. It was the look someone gave when their prey fell right into their trap. She brought up another picture. This time of a bullet hole in the forearm.

  “Do you see what’s in this hole?”

  Everyone peered closely at the image. Campbell found it first.

  “Is that the bullet?” he asked, dismayed.

  Doctor Tripp nodded.

  “Yes. The bullet was embedded in the muscle.”

  “I call bullshit,” Fish scoffed. “It was probably a ricochet. That’s a .556 round. Christian missed and it bounced off the pavement or something.”

  “Thanks, Fish.”

  “Don’t mention it,” he replied off handedly. “Doctor, get to the point.”

  She gave a weak smile and brought up another image.

  The picture was split into four different frames. The first displayed long, red running strands of muscle. The second was an enhanced picture of a yellow fabric, the third appeared to have pinkish, bulb-like strands that gave an appearance of chains running next to each other, and the fourth matched the third, but the strands seemed thicker.

  “DJ mentioned Kevlar,” she said, pointing to the yellow fabric. “The first image is a normal piece of muscle. Luckily, I had one in my database and didn’t have to extract one from the group. The second is a piece of Kevlar. I cut a small square from Sheriff Green’s vest two days ago. The third is a piece of muscle from the specimen I dissected last week, after the scabs raided the storage center. The fourth? That’s from Tikel’s arm.”

  Campbell put two and two together.

  “Just so I know I’m following this right, you’re saying scab muscle is like Kevlar?”

  “More or less, yes,” Doctor Tripp shrugged.

  “Which is it? More or less?” Fish asked, annoyed. “We’ve all shot and killed scabs before. Their muscle isn’t that strong.”

  She chuckled.

  “Heh, well, remember, this is all speculation, but I feel my findings support the claim. I would have to say that it was a combination of two factors when it comes to Mister Tikel.”

  “And those are?” Fish pressed.

  “Well, first, Tikel’s mass. He is, without a doubt, the strongest scab we have faced. But, if we look back since the beginning of the Awakening, the bigger ones are always harder to kill. I know Major Dobson and I faced a few in the Middle East.”

  She stopped a moment. Mentioning the Major’s name had hit a sore spot with her. Quickly, she recovered and continued her lecture.

  “You guys mentioned two specific scabs you had to shoot numerous times to kill.”

  Campbell nodded.

  “The one that killed Kayla and the
one that raided us our last night at Ace Hardware. We shot that last one twenty times and it still killed Vanerka. Sixty more rounds and it finally fell. He was pretty damn big.”

  “And the bastard that killed Kayla, he wasn’t a small fry either,” DJ added, rubbing his shoulder. That scab had jammed a pick axe next to his clavicle. The fight was something he wasn’t going to forget.

  “More mass means more protection,” Doctor Tripp said pointedly. “The stronger the scab, the better chance they have of stopping bullets. Tikel was off the charts, so to speak. His fibers are twice as thick and three times as dense as the scab I took samples from before. Think of it like this. One layer of Kevlar isn’t sufficient to stop any bullets, except maybe the smallest of calibers. Add a few more layers, you can stop handguns. But then think about twenty or thirty layers? How powerful would a bullet have to be to penetrate that?”

  “More powerful than my AK,” DJ conceded.

  “And that is what we’re looking at,” Doctor Tripp agreed. “The more muscle mass, the stronger the tensile strength. It explains why Tikel was able to take as many rounds as he did. The damage was no more than superficial in most cases. I’m sure some bullets made it through weak spots, but not enough to take a scab his size down.”

  “You said there were two reasons. What’s the other?” Campbell asked.

  “Well, I talked with Sheriff Green this morning about Tikel. He was at the refugee camp where Tikel was turned into a scab. It seems he was infected in the first month after the Awakening. If I had to guess, I would say the longer someone has been infected, the longer an M Supercell has to mutate and rewrite the DNA. Five months is a long time for this impressive virus to do its work.”

  “I’m glad you’re so impressed,” Fish grunted. “So how do we beat bigger scabs? Shoot them with bigger bullets? A grenade only stunned the bastard. It took DJ, Christian and me firing every shot in our arsenal to kill him when he made it to the water.”

  “More powerful ammo is an option,” Doctor Tripp agreed. “That is, if you have enough. Maybe we should invest time or resources in armor piercing bullets. That, of course, is out of my realm of expertise. Surprisingly, the muscle cuts easy enough. But Kevlar isn’t much different. You can shove a knife or screwdriver through Kevlar without much effort, or take a pair of scissors and cut it like any other cloth. Same for the muscle of this particular scab.”