by Jay Brenham
A stray dog wandered the beach of the mainland, but that was the only sign of life.
The sun was just coming over the horizon when Sam looked toward Matt and gave a thumbs up. Matt returned the signal and the drivers started to wind their way further into the wetlands. Initially they were going to row in to avoid detection, but Carl had suggested that was a bad idea. The engines might attract the infected, but if the infected were close they wanted to know right away. The engines would alert the infected; if nothing stirred, they would know it was safe to land the boats.
Trees sprang up on either side of the boats but quickly gave way to marshy scrub. Sam caught Rodrigo’s eye and pointed to one of the small islands. Rodrigo nodded and aimed for the shoreline, pulling the motor up as they got closer so it wouldn’t strike bottom. Carl, who was in his early forties with a full head of brown hair and a chiseled physique, jumped into the water to pull the boat forward and onto land. Sam and Matt also got out, providing cover while the boats were pulled ashore.
Sam and Matt moved forward, guns pointed ahead with the hope of not having to use them. Sam nervously touched the leather bandoleer that crossed his chest. It was a loaner from Quinn that held twenty-five twelve gauge shotgun shells. When he first arrived in Raft City he’d traded some of his buckshot shells for an equal number of slugs. The bandoleer was a fantastic upgrade, providing easy access to more shells instead of having to carry them in a pocket or a pack. The only thing that would have made Sam happier was a semi-automatic rifle like Matt’s. It was hard to argue with the superior firepower of 30 rounds without having to reload.
Since he’d arrived at Raft City, Sam had made it a point to practice loading and racking the shotgun several times a day so his movements would come naturally under pressure. He figured the time to practice was before the infected were clamoring for a chance at his throat.
The idea of practicing had actually been Matt’s, passed on to him from the police officer who’d helped him escape the city. They’d practiced loading and unloading and a few hand signals so they could maintain silence when necessary. When the sun rose in the morning they practiced weapon manipulation and they did the same when it fell. That way their first time loading the weapons would not be when they were under pressure.
Sam’s feet sank into the mud as he moved into the thigh-high grass that covered the shoreline. If the charts were correct they were on a small island that had no access to land. It should be safe, but it was still his job to keep an eye out for infected or for hostile survivors.
Groups of song birds glided through the morning sky. Geese and ducks landed on the water; they looked good but the risk of noise and the loss of ammunition made them impractical targets.
The area appeared safe.
Sam allowed himself to look down for the first time. The grass was thick with mussels and oysters beneath his feet. He was relieved that this was a good place to gather food. It had been his idea, after all, and he didn’t want to have to search too far, at least not on their first trip.
He motioned for the other foragers, who followed him into the grasses. They started ripping the mussels from their beds, loading them into mesh produce bags and five-gallon drywall buckets. Everyone wore gloves; best to prevent cuts that could become infected, Sam thought.
After about twenty minutes Matt came up to him. “I’ve been looking at those houses on the other side of the water,” he said in a low voice.
“What about them?” Sam asked, more to keep the conversation flowing than out of actual interest.
“There could be supplies in there. More food, water, and medical supplies.”
“Could be. There could also be someone living there. Someone who’s armed and doesn’t like visitors. Are hypothetical supplies worth getting shot over?”
“Do you think most people would shoot without a warning once they realize we’re not infected? If they tell us to go away, we’ll leave. We’re not going to fight them.”
“Is that a risk you’re willing to take? Things are different than they were before the outbreak. We aren’t the neighbors asking to borrow a cup of sugar. Look at us,” said Sam. “Do we look friendly? We’re carrying guns.”
“But what if nobody’s home? These could be vacation homes. Inside that house there could be things we really need. The owners might be halfway across the country or dead.”
Sam said nothing.
“Look, I know you’ve just signed on for a couple of foraging expeditions, but I’m here for the long haul. If we run out of water and disinfectant at some point, it’ll be me who suffers. Me and Jenna and the baby and,” he cast a look over his shoulder, “all the rest of these people.”
After a few moments, Sam sighed. “Keep an eye on it while they finish gathering. If you don’t see any trouble, I’m in.”
“Keep an eye on it? I don’t understand. Did you mean ‘recon the objective?’” Matt asked, an expression of mock-seriousness on his face.
Sam matched his expression. “When the rest of our group is finished obtaining provisions, we’ll reconvene and reevaluate our position.” He gave a mock salute and turned to keep an eye on the little island while Matt kept a watchful eye on the houses. It took nearly an hour to fill all the buckets and bags with mussels and oysters.
“How’d things look over there?” Sam asked when they were finished.
“No signs of life. No movement at all. I feel good about it, Sam.”
“Let’s talk to the others. They signed on to gather, not go on a raiding party. Let’s make sure we’re on the same page.”
#
The boats slipped away from the shore as easily as they arrived. Sam told Rodrigo to pull next to Matt’s boat so he could address both crews.
“While you guys were gathering food Matt and I kept an eye on the houses across the water and they look empty. They probably have supplies that we need.”
Rodrigo broke his normal silence. “We talked about the risks we were willing to take back at Raft City. We aren’t willing to do something like this. We don’t have any guns.” He glanced around at the others, then back at Sam. “What were you expecting from us?”
Matt leaned forward to speak and Sam let him. He knew these people better than Sam did. He’d lived with this group for a week before Sam had shown up. They respected him. His quick thinking had saved Raft City from the infected. Sure, it was true that some timid people criticized Matt for his actions the night he’d cut the west wing loose, but those were the fearful, the ones who waited for decisions to be made for them and then found fault with the people brave enough to take action. The people who sat in front of them were not the timid, just the concerned.
“Rodrigo, I understand what you’re saying,” Matt said. “And I understand your fears. Does everyone feel the way Rodrigo does?”
One after another, everyone on board the two boats nodded.
“Sam and I aren’t asking you to go with us. We want you to stay with the boats while we investigate. Be ready for a quick escape.”
“You don’t want us to do anything?” Carl asked skeptically.
“That’s right. We just want you to wait for us while we check things out and get some supplies,” Matt said.
“And then you have supplies and food to trade and the rest of us only have food,” Carl said.
Rodrigo shot Carl an annoyed look. “You act like they’re trying to trick us. They’re taking one hundred percent of the risk by going in there. All they want us to do is sit on the boat and wait for them. Is that too much to ask?”
“Yeah, it is,” Carl said. “You say they’re taking all of the risk but that’s not true. Just being in a situation without a gun where one of the infected could get onto the boats is a risk, no matter how small.”
“How’s it a risk if we see an infected coming and drive away?” Rodrigo asked.
“It’s a slight risk, but it’s still a risk and we have nothing to show for it,” Carl said, crossing his arms.
Sam could
see through Carl’s false front; he wasn’t concerned about the infected, or about the risk. Carl wanted some of the supplies they found. There was always an opportunist trying to get something for nothing, he thought. But part of him also understood: life was uncertain and if Carl could swing something for nothing, then why wouldn’t he?
“Alright Carl,” Sam said, glancing at Matt to see if he would object. “I see the problem. You guys signed on to gather some shellfish, not to check houses for supplies, right?”
“Right.”
“It’s unfair of us to ask you to be our taxi service and get nothing in return. After all, when Matt and I get off the boats we leave you vulnerable. How about we split things fifty-fifty? Half of what we find goes to you guys to split. Matt and I divide the other half between us?”
Matt hesitated, then nodded his agreement. The rest of the group murmured in interest, with the exception of Carl.
“I don’t think that’s fair at all,” Carl said, arms still crossed. “The two of you keep fifty percent of the supplies? How is that fair for us?”
As the lone dissenter Carl had the most power, Sam thought, and he seemed to know it instinctively.
“So what do you want, Carl? To split equal shares among all of us?” Matt asked.
“Yeah. I think that’d be fair.”
“Well, I think that’s bullshit. Sam and I are the ones walking into a possible shit storm while you sit on the boat. You can take Sam’s offer or leave it. Personally, I think it’s more than fair and so does everyone else. Unless we have one hundred percent agreement let’s get back to Raft City to divvy this food up,” Matt said. Then, as if to underscore his own reasonableness, Matt added, “By all means, if you want to come with us, feel free. You can keep one hundred percent of whatever you carry out yourself.”
“Come on, man,” Rodrigo muttered to Carl. “You know what they’re saying is fair.”
Carl shifted his weight back and forth in the boat, his hesitancy evident. “Alright,” he said finally. “We’ve got a deal.”
The Zodiacs sped across the inlet towards the floating dock in front of the houses. They were using the same thought process as when they drove in: better to create some noise and alert the infected, that way they’d find out if the mission was a bust before it even started.
“If any of the infected come onto the pier, get out of here,” Sam said to Rodrigo. “We’ll try to make it out to that other point of land where you can pick us up.”
Rodrigo nodded.
Matt climbed onto the dock carrying a long piece of driftwood with Rodrigo’s white t-shirt tied to the end. He lifted the stick and began waving it in the air as he and Sam walked toward the house. It was difficult to know whether they should be open about their location or if they were better served by stealth. In the end, they’d decided in favor of waving the white flag. Sam hoped there was less of a chance someone would mistake them for predators of one form or another.
Sam’s eyes flicked between the house and the surrounding landscape as they drew closer. Nothing. The house was a modest one-story painted light blue. It had a small front porch with a pair of wicker chairs that watched the bay.
They stepped quietly onto the porch. Sam knocked on the door and fell back, his eyes rapidly scanning the door and windows for any sign of life. Despite their peace flag, which was now leaned against the wall, both he and Matt held their weapons ready. Sam knocked again.
Still nothing.
He glanced at Matt, who nodded. Sam tried the door handle. “Locked,” he mouthed.
Matt motioned toward the back of the house and they stepped off the porch, guns at the low ready, prepared to engage. The rear door was also locked. The place must be empty, Sam thought. He assumed infected would have responded to the repeated knocks and noise if they were inside.
Matt pointed back to the front of the house. Better to kick the front door in, where everyone in the boats could at least see what they were doing. As they rounded the corner Matt held up a hand and crouched low, gesturing toward the house just down the road.
“I saw another house behind this one,” he whispered. “Let’s check it for infected. We don’t want to be inside this one and be surprised.”
Sam nodded. “Let’s see what there is. If things start to go south we get back to the boats. Okay?”
“Sounds good, if it’s empty we come back here and search this house. The sound of the door being broken might attract unwanted attention, uninfected just as likely as infected, and we want to be as close to the boats as possible.”
“That’s what I was thinking too,” Sam said. “Let’s move.”
They hugged one side of the road so as not to telegraph their position. According to a battered street sign on one side of the road, they were on Potato Neck Road.
The scene looked the same at the second house. By all appearances, this was a quiet, neat neighborhood. They knocked on the front door. There was no answer.
It was when they walked around to the back of the house that they began seeing signs that something was amiss. A car was parked in the backyard. Its windows were broken and a half-dressed body protruded from beneath it. Behind the car, a man hung by a rope from a children’s swing set. He was wearing a green jacket, gloves, and a black plastic trash bag over his head. Something had stretched since the hanging took place—either the rope or, Sam thought with a sick feeling, maybe his neck——because both of his feet were touching the ground. Sam tore his eyes away. The man looked more like a Halloween decoration than a suicide.
Warning bells clanged in Sam’s head. Something had gone wrong here.
There was a large elevated fire pit in the center of the yard and tall trees surrounding them on three sides. The tattered remains of clothing were scattered through the yard like tumbleweeds.
Something lay on the ground beyond the fire pit. Sam unconsciously took a step closer to it, trying to see what it was. Amid the detritus of clothing lay the bodies of three small children. One of the children—Sam couldn’t tell whether it had been a boy or a girl—was missing a hand, which was lying a few feet away, stripped of both its skin and meat. A small toy dragon had been placed in its fleshless grasp.
Bile rose in Sam’s throat. This was disgusting, yes, but it also showed a level of sophistication he hadn’t seen before. Somebody had intentionally placed the dragon in the child’s hand after it had been stripped of flesh.
Just past the children’s bodies, a woman and man had been staked to the ground by ten-inch galvanized nails driven through their hands and feet. Sam realized with horror that the tendons above their heels had been severed—deep, jagged cuts that looked like they’d been made with something dull or serrated. A saw, maybe.
It must’ve been done to keep them from running away, he thought, which meant they’d been alive when they were staked. Even in death the couple had no peace; their faces were twisted in agony. A large kitchen knife jutted out from the man’s ribs. A metal spike had been driven sideways through the female’s throat.
Had this couple lived here? Were those their children? Sam could only hope that they’d gone quickly but, by the looks of things, their deaths had been anything but.
He felt ill, suddenly, and he realized his hand was covering his mouth. Was this an act of a twisted serial killer who’d struck when the opportunity had presented itself, or had the infected done this? Sam knew with sudden certainty that they needed to get back to the boats before they ended up staked to the ground.
Sam glanced at Matt, who looked as sick as Sam felt. “Let’s get out of here,” Sam said.
They both turned. Standing fifteen yards behind them was a shirtless middle-aged man. He wore cut-off black pants and the skin of his face and chest was covered in brown, crisscrossing lines. It took Sam a moment to realize that the thatched pattern had been drawn with blood, long since dried. In his left hand, the man held a wooden baseball bat.
Sam darted a glance behind him. Figures had risen out of the underbrush
and were walking in his direction.
#
The man took a step toward Sam and Matt. He looked more coherent than the other infected Sam had seen but his gait gave him away. It was the lurching walk of the truly insane.
The infected seemed to be coming from every direction now. They were all partially clothed and they all had the same bloody thatched pattern across their exposed skin.
The infected man with the baseball bat raised his bat wordlessly overhead and the others halted. Sam felt the hair on his arms stand up. The infected in the city would’ve charged by now. They would’ve charged at first sight, in fact. They had been an unorganized bloodthirsty mob that recognized no leader. Except…thinking back, Sam remembered the way the infected on his road had reacted when one of their own had ripped the head from the sports car driver’s body. They’d held him in the air, treated him like a hero. Had that been significant? Had they been showing signs of order, of teamwork?
The leader began walking forward with the baseball bat still raised. Without a second thought Sam raised his shotgun, took aim, and pulled the trigger. A twelve-gauge slug burst from the end of the shotgun and hit the leader at the base of the throat. An explosion of blood and bone exited out his back and he crumpled to the ground.
Whatever semblance of order had been holding the infected together evaporated when their leader fell. Sam and Matt ran toward the dead man; it was the only path that led them in the direction of the boats and away from the array of infected at their backs. Screams of rage followed them.
Matt turned, unloading the AR-15 into the rushing group.
Sam stopped twenty yards away and turned. Matt was still firing.
“Move! Move! Move!” Sam yelled. “I’ll cover you.” Matt turned and began running, angling to Sam’s right so he wasn’t headed into gunfire.
The first round loaded into Sam’s shotgun had been a slug, but the rest were buckshot. Shooting the leader had been an easy shot; even someone with little to no weapons experience could be expected to hit a target from such close range. Now he was a little further out and any sort of spread from the shotgun shells would be useful even if it would be minimal at this distance.
