Pete grinned. “Why, it’s almost like civilization, General.”
“One piece at a time, Major. Speaking of, I had a chance to look through the proposal you dropped off. I took a look at what we had in the way of maps, and if your nephew is serious, I’m willing to commit the resources to check out Kelleys Island.”
“I don’t know that they’d need much,” Pete admitted. “Miles seemed to have it pretty well nailed down.”
“Well, sealift and support are well within our capabilities at this point. We haven’t done any sort of official survey, though we’ve been sailing past the island for a while now.” He shrugged. “I’d guess it’s abandoned or any survivors have hunkered down. No one has tried to signal us.”
“Well, even if it’s infested, there’s an upper limit on numbers.” Pete rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “We could never have made the trip before, but I wonder now if we might have been better off taking to the water early on.”
“In this case, I’d say you all did one hell of a job. We’re built for the land, Pete. The water’s a short-term refuge at best, and I don’t think there was ever anything close to a real chance of building a society out there. Even the GenPharm conspirators kept their population small. Had to, given the size of the island they had.”
“Smaller than Miles’ island? I can imagine all that potential farm ground is mighty juicy.”
“That, and one other thing. The second point of interest is a runway. It’s only about 2,000 feet, but with the status of our fixed wing fleet, that’s a moot point. It has the potential to be a safe LZ for helicopters if nothing else.”
“Dirigibles, too,” Pete pointed out. “If we can get them back.” The tempo out on the tarmac picked up in volume as the helicopter rigged out with the sling load of supplies fired up its engine.
“You read my mind, Major.” The general stuck out a hand. “Godspeed, Pete. I’ll stash a bottle in the O-club for when you get back.”
Chapter 15
April 6, 2018
Just outside of Louisiana, Missouri
Z-Day + 170
The pawn shop was a plain, white-painted building constructed of concrete block. Large display windows flanked the door centered in the storefront. Heavy steel bars covered all three openings, but most of the glass was missing. Bullet holes perforated what little remained, and the bodies crumpled outside told Sandy the gunfire had originated on the inside of the building.
The bars on the front door were intact, but the hinges had given way under some interminable force. It hung at a drunken angle, halfway between open and closed. Jason indicated the entrance and groaned. “We’re too late. Everything is going to be gone.”
“Take it easy, kid,” Richard said. His hand hesitated over the ignition button as though he were debating whether to take the risk of turning the engine off. Finally, he stabbed it, and silence reigned. Despite the return of quiet, Sandy knew that the clarion call had already gone out. With the lack of living human activity, there was little to impede the long-distance carriage of sound. They were on a countdown timer but they had no clue what it was set to. “It was a small town, and with the bridge out, it’s even more isolated. Worry about it when we get to it, not after.” He glanced over his shoulder. “You got your stuff ready, Sandy?”
He nodded and hefted the bag of odds and ends he’d gathered together. “Ready.”
Richard gave him a tight nod. “You and Jason keep an eye outside. Kendra and I will sweep the interior.” He lifted his M4 and clicked the flashlight clamped to the rail on and off to test it. “Let’s get hopping.”
The four of them piled out of the Humvee. Richard had parked it sideways in the lot, pointed at one of the exits. If they had to make a run for it, they were set up to do it.
Sandy slung his bag over his shoulder and turned to scan the area outside of the pawn shop. The parking lot was empty save for a couple of dirty pickup trucks sitting on flat tires. They sat alone, parked flush against the front corners of the building. He frowned as he considered it. The arrangement was too similar on either side to be coincidental. He checked the rest of the area. Kendra and Richard had moved inside of the pawn shop, and Jason had taken up station near the Humvee. He kept a death grip on the shotgun, though Sandy thought he could detect a hint of shake in his hands. He could hardly blame the kid. If it were up to him they’d be heading back to the boat.
He forced himself to take a deep breath to calm his nerves. The trip through town in the Humvee hadn’t raised much attention at all. If anything, Richard had sounded a bit disappointed as he shot west before cutting back southeast along country roads. The noise of their passage had only roused a bare handful of infected. That was good news for the town, of course, but it could be catastrophic out in the country. Hopefully, if there had been some sort of diaspora out of town, it had been in all directions. The sight of the front of the shop and the pitched battle it implied indicated that might be a long shot.
Sandy whistled. It didn’t sound much like a bird, but he figured it should sound different enough from a human to not rouse any ill attention. Jason glanced over. Sandy stuck his thumb into his chest, then pointed at the truck on the left side of the shop. After a moment, the other man got it and nodded his understanding.
Every crunch of the gravel under his feet made his shoulders clench, and he resisted the urge to run back to the Humvee. The grass at the edge of the parking lot was waist-high, and his eyes kept flicking back to it as he approached the truck. Unaware of his concern, the blades of grass rippled in the breeze.
The truck, an older Ford, sported a rusty bumper guard with a winch. The line of cable from the winch was fully played out. He pulled on it, lifting it from where it had settled into the gravel over the winter. His eyes followed the line as it traveled across the front of the shop, under the mounds of corpses. He frowned as he tried to puzzle out the purpose for it.
At once, he got it. The key sat under the bumper—another steel cable, this one terminating in a bent and warped locking clamp. The survivors inside the pawn shop had parked their trucks, extended their winches, and clamped each onto the opposite truck. As he glanced over to the right truck, he could see where they’d fed the line through the frame of the bumper guard so that it came out around chest height.
A two-wire fence at knee and chest height wasn’t much to speak of, but Sandy could see where it would hold back the infected. A human could lean over and slip through, but they didn’t have the wherewithal for that.
He considered the busted clamp and winced. In the end, problem-solving hadn’t mattered. Enough of them had built up against the impromptu barricade to push through, and then they’d crowded against the entrance and broken their way through that, as well.
He started to imagine the sense of hopelessness the people inside of the pawn shop must have felt but pushed the urge away. It wasn’t doing them any good, and it was keeping him from his watch on the perimeter.
Sandy crept back to the Humvee in time to see Kendra step out of the pawn shop. She waved, beckoning them forward.
He ducked around the wrecked front door and stepped inside. The footing was uncertain at best. There were as many fallen infected inside the lobby as there were along the storefront.
The light from the windows faded off to nothing in the middle of the building, but Sandy could see the light on Richard’s M4 slashing through the rear of the store. He glanced at Kendra. “We good?”
She gave him a tight nod. “We’re late to the party. The only way I can tell the fallen survivors from the undead is that some of them died with guns in their hand.” She waved a hand to the back of the store. “Guy made a last stand at the gun counter and ate a bullet. Guess anything left wandered off in the meantime. It’s dead in here.” As soon as she made the comparison, she winced. “Anyway, we hit the lottery, boys. Let’s get loaded up and get the hell out of here.”
They picked their way down aisles of tools, electronics, and movies. The stuff closest to t
he front of the store bore the telltale signs of water damage, but as they went further back that transitioned to dust. Despite the heat of the day, the interior of the building was rather cool. Sandy’s clothing had dried out during the road trip, but any respite from the sun was nice.
As he came up to the counter at the back of the store, he reckoned that he was about to start sweating again. Richard had lined up rows and rows of rifles, most of them similar in appearance to the M4s they’d recovered from the roadblock, and he was still busy scanning the racks and shelves for anything else they could make use of.
Kendra indicated one of the guns. “It’s a standard, semi-auto civilian model, but most of the internals are common with the military rifles. We can mix and match, use these for spare parts.” She beamed. “We got us some firepower, people.”
“Hell, yeah,” Jason crowed. “How about ammo?”
Richard heaved a pair of metal cans onto the counter with a grunt. “More than I had any right to expect.” He snorted. “There was a big-time shortage of AR-type ammo back in ‘13. The sporting goods section at Wal-Mart was bare except for all the weird calibers. Somebody told me the jackwagons running this place were buying it all up and reselling it for double. I figured it was grousing, but I’ll be damned if these fools don’t have a dozen cases worth under the counter.”
Sandy shook his head. Before, he’d have been the first to hold court on the lack of sensible gun laws in the country, how no one needed to keep stockpiles of ammunition in their garage. Living in a big city, nothing had ever challenged his assumptions in that regard. Had he come into this pawn shop a year ago, he supposed he would have written the proprietors off as paranoid nutjobs.
Now, the police weren’t answering the phone, and the arsenal was their best chance at long-term survival.
Reality has a way of smacking you in the face when you get too full of yourself. Sandy frowned and pushed the thought away. That was a road that he didn’t need to go down, especially here. It was one thing to hold a pity party in a secure location. He wasn’t about to risk the lives of his friends by waxing nostalgic over his own failings out here.
Following Jason’s lead, he piled a stack of rifles in his arms. He met Richard’s eye and said, “I spotted what looked like a pretty decent stereo. You still think we need a distraction after the ride through town?”
The other man hefted a stack of ammo can and frowned. “I think so, yes. There’s enough worth saving that we may want to adjust our plans. Talk and move.”
They picked their way forward to the front of the store. Sandy’s eyes were getting used to the darkness, so he was able to pick his way through the fallen infected without too much trouble. He squeezed out of the front door, blinking in the light.
Richard pushed ahead and dropped his cans on the ground. With his hands free, he popped the rear hatch on the Humvee and began loading the ammunition. When that was complete, he started pulling rifles out of the stack in Sandy’s arms. “We’ve got food and water for tonight. I’m thinking once we set up your distraction, we find an out of the way place to park the truck and hole up for the night.”
His arms were empty, but Sandy lingered. “Is that a good idea?”
“I’ve been racking my brains. This is too good a score to pass up. I want to clean this place out. if we can. That takes time. I don’t want to start throwing stuff in the back willy-nilly. We’re limited on space, and it doesn’t make sense to take guns we don’t have ammunition for.”
Jason stepped up and Richard started stacking his load in the Humvee. “What’s up?”
“Camping trip,” Sandy informed him. “I see the logic. And it’d take more infected than I can fathom to break into the Humvee.”
“Awesome,” Jason replied. The three of them stood empty-handed, and Richard nodded back toward the entrance.
“Kendra is sorting the rest of the boxes of ammo with her flashlight. Sandy, before you rig up your concert, maybe go through the computers and tablets. The gas for the generator won’t last long, but it’ll give the kids something to do in the meantime.” He shrugged. “Hell, grab some movies. We’re tight on space, but if we fill up here no big deal. The pharmacy stuff will be relatively compact.”
“Could always rig up an alternator to Barry’s old bike,” Jason pointed out. “We’ve got a couple of inverters. If nothing else, it’ll make us have to work at being couch potatoes.”
Richard grinned. “Now we’re thinking for the long term. Let’s move. We’re burning daylight.”
March 13, 2026
Aboard the USS Detroit
Z-Day + 3,068
If the trailer back at Camp Perry had been tight, the quarters aboard the Detroit were nigh-claustrophobic. For sleeping, he didn’t think it would be a big deal—Charlie tended to tuck himself into a tight fetal position against the nearest wall—but there wasn’t much in the way of elbow room. Even the corridors through the ship were narrow and required someone to squeeze over to one side when two-way traffic intersected.
That wasn’t the only reason he’d made his way to the bow of the ship, though. He’d been on land for eight years, and the sight of all that water woke a yearning in his chest that hadn’t even known was there. Yeah, it was only a big lake—narrowing to a river now—and not the ocean, but the hissing sound of water parting before the bow, and the cool spray against his face brought back memories of happier times.
He leaned on the top wire of the guardrail and let the tears well from his eyes. If anyone saw him, who was to say it wasn’t water from below?
He and his wife, Sheila, had gone on a cruise a few months before Z-Day. The ship hadn’t been as swift or responsive as this one, but the sensations of the two were similar enough that he could close his eyes and imagine that he was sliding backward through time. A few months of peace. That’s not too much to ask for, is it?
A shout from the rear of the ship snapped him out of his reverie, and he shook his head at his own dithering. His wife was long dead, and no amount of daydreaming was going to change that. It was strange. For so long he’d tried to put all thoughts of his lost family out of his mind, but Cooper and Sheila were at the forefront of his thoughts more and more. He supposed that was a natural consequence of coming out of his self-imposed emotional exile.
I wonder what Sheila would think of Frannie? He laughed and shook his head again. That was a weird thought, for sure. In the end, there was a distinct difference between cheating on your spouse and seeking out a relationship as a widower, of course—but he had to admit to a slight sense of guilt when he tried to picture Sheila, and she ended up looking more like Frannie.
That crazy kid, Alex, had enlisted a few of the other kids—including Twigs—to make a surreptitious run to his childhood home to retrieve a picture of his parents. The pictures in Charlie’s wallet were worn and faded, but if it still stood, he had a house full of them. It was a haul, to be sure, and too close to Chicago’s population density for comfort, but it wasn’t like he needed to worry about a bite.
How much of a hypocrite would I be if I headed to my own house after helping out with the lecture that Pete gave Alex and his companions?
Charlie sighed. It was a good thing that they had a long journey ahead because his head was definitely not in the game. Maybe it was the surroundings, or maybe it was the boat, but this wasn’t like moving through the Wild. He felt insulated from the danger, and he wasn’t sure if he liked that feeling.
It wasn’t so much that he was some sort of danger junkie, though he’d tempted shamblers—zulus, he amended—with a bite of his flesh from time to time. Knowing that he was immune to the infection had driven him to take risks that other survivors would have shied away from. He’d always tried to force himself into the mentality of not pushing things too far.
There’s plenty of time. I’ll figure it out.
He raised his head and looked out over the water. The river narrowed as they continued toward the sea, and the tree-filled banks were beginnin
g the transition to a built-up metropolitan area. They looked to be approaching a city, and a big one.
He nearly jumped out of his skin when someone clasped his shoulder, but he held back the urge and turned around. One of the Navy personnel pointed forward and leaned in. “Sir, you need to get inside, we’re sealing all hatches.”
Charlie followed the finger, and his jaw dropped.
The bridge that spanned the river was not only more modern-looking than most of the spans he’d seen in the last few years, it was intact. Even at this distance, his eyes were good enough to spot the figures staggering around on the bridge deck. Oh, shit.
“Where are we?” Charlie had to shout as the loudspeakers placed around the deck broadcast a message from one of the bridge officers.
“All hands, all hands. Secure all hatches. Security teams, prepare to handle boarders after we clear the bridge.”
“That’s the Peace Bridge, sir! It joins Buffalo and Canada.”
Charlie made a face. “Guess the Air Force missed a spot, huh?”
The Navy guy shrugged. Charlie could tell he was itching to get somewhere secure. He didn’t see any need to further freak the kid out, so he pulled away from the rail and followed as the seaman trotted across the deck and opened one of the forward hatches.
Inside, with the hatch secure, the kid’s relief was palpable. “There shouldn’t be too many that make it onto the deck, sir. They make the run at as high a speed as they can manage, but still. Better safe than sorry.”
“Understood.” Charlie nodded to the porthole in the hatch. “Mind if I watch?”
“No problem, sir. Just don’t open that door. Let the security guys handle any strays we pick up. You good? I need to get to my station.”
Charlie waved him away and crouched down. The porthole was small and at about chin height, so he couldn’t make out the surface of the bridge. His view shifted as the rumble of the ship’s engines deepened and the bow lifted. The kid hadn’t been joking. If Charlie had thought they were going fast before, they were flying in comparison, now. The bridge supports swelled in his vision, then blurred out of view. At the same time, falling bodies cascaded down as the zulus above sought the noisy and tempting target of the Detroit. Most missed, plunging into the water, but at least three hit the deck in front of Charlie’s hatch. One landed on its skull and shattered it, but the other two were luckier. One of the two survivors had a shattered leg, but it lurched to its feet and trotted forward, seeking out prey. Charlie grimaced. Not luck at all. At least some of the jumpers were enhanced. He considered the distance from Hope to Camp Perry to Buffalo and didn’t like the implication he drew from that visual. If the new phenomenon was a widespread thing, this mission was even more critical than Pete had thought. He resolved himself to tell the other man what he’d seen when he saw him next. Pete might already know, but who knew. He had enough going on with planning the mission that Charlie doubted he was just loitering aimlessly around the mess hall or bridge.
A Place Called Hope (Z-Day Book 2) Page 15
