Whiskey Tango Foxtrot (Book 4): Walking In The Shadow Of Death

by Lundy, W. J.

  As he crawled on his belly an inch at a time, he ran into an obstacle. He reached out with a gloved hand, pulling at the fabric, trying to find a way around. Baggage? Luggage, packaged materials; his path was blocked. He needed to try and get over the obstructions. He reached out and pulled himself over the pile, keeping his body low and trying to avoid contact with the tent fabric hanging just above his body. In close proximity to everything his NVGs had become useless. He couldn’t focus on anything.

  He relied on touch and his senses to guide him through the tent. He reached out, again searching for a handhold, then quickly snatched his hand back. His heart racing, he was sure he recognized the sensation that shot through his body, the recognition of what he had grabbed. He tried to remain calm, fighting off the panic. He could hear them outside, snarling at each other, reminding him of their presence. He couldn’t go back.

  Cautiously Brad again stretched out an arm. He opened his hand and patted with his palm, then cringed. He froze, not wanting to continue, his hand rested on a human face. He could feel the frozen nose and lips. Now focused on his location, he had to use everything in him to control his emotions. He probed with his other arm, pressing beneath him, and his fear was realized. Lifting his head and trying to look around him he nearly convulsed, wanting to vomit. He forced back the fear. He was lying on a mass of frozen bodies.

  Most of them had been contained in body bags, some only in sheets. As he got closer to the far side of the tent they were in nothing more than hospital gowns. He had unknowingly crawled into a mortuary tent. He pushed his shemagh tightly over his face and bit down until his lips bled, using the pain to distract himself from his emotions. Slowly he regained his composure, feeling his panic subside. Now that he knew where he was, the smell mentally became worse. Every movement became a horrifying burden. He suddenly could feel everything, every bump below him, every knee, head, or elbow he came in contact with.

  He clenched his eyes tightly closed and chewed the shemagh, fighting off the urge to vomit until he had made his way through the corpse pile and to the far side of the tent. He poked his head under the far side. He made a quick sweep, looking all around, and suddenly disregarded his plan and his safety. He bolted away from the tent, running just a short distance before stopping near an ambulance with its rear door open. Brad pushed his back against it. He looked back towards the tent where he could still see the primals on the far side loitering near the pharmacy; fortunately they had not spotted him.

  Brad dropped to the ground and rolled under the ambulance, low crawling to the other side. He was almost clear of the parking lot. He could see the street and the row of houses now. Brad rolled from under the ambulance and crawled close to its flattened front tire. He lay there listening, straining to hear sounds of danger before moving on. He quietly lifted himself to a sitting position, leaning back against the tire. He was ready to lift himself to his feet when he saw something move. It was coming from the street. Slowly the object became more defined in his night vision as it drew closer.

  As it shambled along, he saw that this one had a bad knee. It moved slower than the others. Maybe that’s why it was alone. Brad watched it move; it was on a course to pass Brad, presumably aiming to join the others near the tent. Brad held Sean’s MKII in his hand. Slowly he moved his hand to his lap and tried to relax his grip. He knew he was invisible in the darkness, but he had to remain silent and control his breathing if he didn’t want to give away his position. He sat motionless, keeping his eyes focused on the gimped primal.

  It moved along at a slow, easy pace, stepping forward with its strong leg then dragging the other one ahead. It continued that motion, looking straight ahead, seemingly oblivious to Brad. It moved to within eight feet of him. Brad was sure it would continue on, past the ambulance and out of sight, but suddenly it stopped. It took its one good-legged step then paused before allowing the bad leg to be dragged forward. It froze in that stance. Brad watched it uneasily, waiting for it to make a move. The primal’s chin raised and it began to sniff the air like a dog.

  He expected to be frozen with fear, but he wasn’t. He sat next to the tire watching the thing move about, sniffing, hunting for its prey. Brad watched as it turned its head and looked in his direction. It looked down, staring right at him. It knew something was there, but it still wasn’t sure. It pulled its bad leg forward, then twisted and took a step in Brad’s direction, leaning into the darkness, searching, probing with its nose, licking the air, trying to see what was out there.

  Brad slowly raised the pistol from his lap and activated the laser. He squeezed the grip and put the green dot just under the thing’s chin and pulled the trigger twice. Pop, pop. The primal froze, resting back on its gimped leg. Brad could see that he had hit it just under the chin and again above its nose. The primal swayed to the left and right before it fell to the ground with a thud. The pistol was a lot louder than Brad had remembered. It seemed to shatter the silence. He was sure the remaining mob would come running at him, but they didn’t. Brad sat silently, looking at the primal he had just put down.

  He sensed more movement in his goggles. More of them coming from across the street headed in his direction. He had to go. Brad crawled away on all fours, moving as quickly as he could while remaining silent. He reached the G-Wagon at the entrance to the parking lot and got to his feet. He ducked low and looked back towards the ambulance. The primals had spotted the dead gimp. They were looking around, sniffing at the air. They recognized their dead, Brad thought.

  One of them reached down to touch the dead primal. He stood back up again, searching. Brad had to move, he needed to get away. Ducking low he kept the G-Wagon between him and the primals and entered the street. He made a quick dash onto a snow-covered lawn. Tripping over something, he fell, landing heavily in the snow. Brad lay silently, not wanting to move and make any more noise. He cautiously rolled to his side and looked back towards the ambulance again. More of them had gathered around the dead primal.

  “What the fuck is going on?” Brad whispered to himself, remembering Sean’s words from last night: They were no longer acting dumb. Brad began to low crawl through the snow towards a house skirted with thick bushes, just as the first of the moans and primal screams began. He moved in close to the house. Pulling himself under the thick vegetation, he stopped and turned. He could see the primals spreading out now, screaming and searching for him. He had to keep moving. Brad turned towards the home and continued to crawl following the wall of the house.

  The home had a small basement window. Brad looked down but was unable to see in. He looked behind him. More primals had joined the mass around the ambulance. He didn’t have a choice. He pulled his knife and, using the handle, smacked the glass. It broke and fell into the house. Brad took another look back before pulling himself through the window. He tumbled in head first and fell hard to the floor below.

  When he fell, his goggles popped up and off of his head. He quickly struggled to right them just as he heard a creak on the floor above. He knew he had to act fast and eliminate the threat. He undid his hip strap and gripped the tomahawk in his left hand, keeping the pistol in his right. He stood, visually scanning the room. It was a rough, unfinished basement, more of a cellar if anything. He saw the wooden steps in the corner leading up; the door at the top was open.

  He heard more footsteps above. There was for sure one of them, maybe two. Brad moved towards them. He needed to take them out before they could sound an alarm. He reached the steps and had begun walking up on the balls of his feet when he saw the door pull back. Brad leaned his right shoulder against the wall and raised his extended arm, pointing the pistol. The primal came around the corner, its head at the length of its neck exploring the darkness. Surprise was still on Brad’s side.

  The soldier didn’t wait. He fired rapidly. Pop, pop, pop as he ran up the stairs, closing the distance. The first round went wide, but the other two were true. The primal’s head bucked back and it tumbled down the stairs towards
him. Brad used his left hand with the ‘hawk to hook the creature and throw it by him as he continued to rush up the stairs. He burst through the doorway and into the kitchen, nearly colliding with an overweight woman, her shirt torn and barely hanging from her torso. She looked about, trying to find him in the darkness. Brad leveled the pistol and fired again. Pop, Pop.

  He heard a crash behind him. He turned sharply and was hit from the side behind the knee. His leg buckled from the impact and he fell hard. Brad dropped the pistol as he lowered his right hand to brace his impact with the tile floor. He just caught the movement from his peripheral as he fell. It moved quickly, darting across the room. He sensed the thing coming at him again from behind; he lashed out heavily with the tomahawk. He felt and heard the sickening crunch as it made contact. Brad rolled to his knees and quickly sat back on his haunches, searching the room. He saw movement on the floor. A small child with the back of its skull hacked away was trying to crawl towards him. Its head was slack against the floor, only its eyes focused on where it thought Brad may be.

  Brad quickly located his pistol and got to his feet before stepping back. He searched the space for more threats, finding none. The downed creature moaned weakly as it moved closer towards him. He didn’t have it in him to use the hawk a second time on the child. He moved towards it and placed the MKII barrel on its temple and pulled the trigger. Pop. The pistol shocked the palm of his hand. Brad fell to his knees before dropping back against the wall. The house was silent now. He could still hear the moans from outside, but they sounded far away.

  He could smell the stench in the home, the stink of primal. He could smell the death on his clothing from his crawl through the mortuary tent. No longer having the strength to hold it, exhausted from the fight, he turned his head and vomited hard. He continued until his lungs hurt, his eyes were watering, and he was dry heaving. He had to get out of the room. He crawled out of the kitchen and into a dining room, using a chair to pull himself back to his feet. Brad staggered though the house into a dark living area. Stepping clumsily he fell to the floor.

  Brad struggled back to a sitting position before dropping his head. He breathed in and out heavily, trying to calm himself. “Suck it up sergeant! You don’t have time for this shit,” he scolded himself. Brad breathed in the air hard and blew it out, then put his head back and closed his eyes tightly before opening them again. He looked around the room. It was a large living room. There was a mantle fireplace along a wall with fancy furniture surrounding it. A large plasma television hung above the fireplace. Family photos were carefully placed along the mantle.

  Brad recognized the child in a photo, sitting on the knee of a proud father with the mother directly behind them. He quickly looked away, burying his emotions. Brad looked to the left and could see the front door. It had large nails spiking it shut at the top and bottom. The windows had heavy curtains drawn over them. There was a box of water bottles in the corner. Brad could see the kitchen table had canned goods scattered around it. “What happened here? How did they get you?” Brad said as he forced himself back to his feet. He checked the pistol, dropped the magazine, and replaced it with a full one.

  He cautiously moved down a long hallway. He found a small child’s room and a bathroom. Brad peeked inside, then moved on. At the end of the hall was a large master bedroom. Brad moved into the room. The bed was made and the curtains were drawn. There was an attached master bathroom. The family had filled the bathtub with water; there were pitchers and jugs of water on the floor. A large first aid kid sat on the kitchen counter. Bloody bandages filled the sink. Brad returned to the master bedroom and sat on the bed.

  He was exhausted. Brad sat his assault pack on the floor and lay back on the bed looking at the ceiling. He could hear them outside, moving, howling. They no longer seemed to be actively pursuing him. Still Brad got the uneasy feeling that they knew he was close. He pulled off the night vision goggles and laid them on the bed next to him. Slowly his eyes adjusted to the darkness, some moonlight leaking into the room over the top of the curtains. Brad unclipped the M4 from his chest rig and laid it next to him. No longer interested in fighting the fatigue, he closed his eyes and let sleep take him.

  17.

  When he woke it was still dark. Brad looked at his watch: just after 0400, still a couple hours before dawn. Starving, he grabbed the pack and dug though it until he found his MRE packets and the peanut butter. He sat the stack of MREs next to him. No, he thought, shaking his head, he should eat what was on hand first and leave the MREs for last resort. He stuffed everything back into the pack and stood up, stretching. He gathered the rest of his gear and pulled the large comforter off of the bed.

  He made his way to the kitchen. With the early morning light he could now see that the child’s arms were bandaged. The mother had small bite wounds to her neck and face. “So that’s how it happened. They got your baby. Was he at school? Outside? You probably tried to protect him, cleaned and dressed his wounds … until he turned on you,” Brad whispered sadly, looking at the mother.

  Without debating or thinking about it, he grabbed the woman and gently moved her into the basement. He laid her next to the male, then returned for the child and placed him between his parents. Finally, Brad covered the family with the bedspread. “I don’t know who you were, but you didn’t deserve this. Your home saved me last night, and I thank you,” Brad said before he turned and walked back up the stairs.

  He closed the door behind him and looked around the kitchen. To the right was a small foyer with a back door; cardboard was taped to it, covering a window. Brad peeled back a corner of the cardboard. The home’s backyard met the tree line. The yard was fenced and looked to be fairly well concealed. It shouldn’t be too difficult to sneak through the back and make a break into the woods. But first he needed to feed his hunger.

  Brad moved back into the kitchen and began looking through the cupboards. They were empty; most of the food had already been pulled out and placed on the kitchen table. Brad moved towards the kitchen table and sorted through the cans. “Green beans and tuna? Breakfast of survivors,” he said as he worked the cans open. He found a plastic bowl and dumped the beans into it, eating them cold as he picked at the tuna fish. “I really do hate this town.”

  He went back to the living room. Finding the package of bottled water, he drank two bottles immediately before stuffing another two in his pack. Then he moved to the sofa and sat down, pulling the peanut butter from his pack, needing something sweet to get him going. He scraped the last remnants from the jar and sat it on the table. Brad leaned back into the sofa staring at the jar. “Well, I guess I should get ready to sneak out of here. If I’m quick I might make the tree line without being seen.

  “Yes, peanut butter it would be nice to just chill here for a couple days, but Kelli needs the dope in my pack. It’s time to hit the trail again.”

  Brad got back to his feet and moved to the front of the house. He found another side door with a key rack next to it. He stood still, thinking. “No … that would be too easy,” he said as he moved towards the window-less door. There was a bolt lock on the door, but it was currently unsecured. He put his hand on the knob, carefully turned the handle and pulled the door in towards him. The adjoining room was dark, but there was enough light to see a small Toyota sedan and a large GMC pickup.

  “You got to be fucking kidding me,” Brad said, smiling. He moved back to the key rack, grabbing a handful of keys and fumbling through the pile until finding the one he wanted. He went back into the garage, moving quietly to the overhead door and making sure it was closed and secured. He didn’t want to be snuck up on. He moved to the large pickup truck and opened the driver’s door; the dome light came on brightly. Brad got in the seat behind the wheel, held his breath and turned the key just a click and watched the dash light up.

  The gas gauge lit and the arrow shot to the ¾ position. The battery showed fully charged. He smiled as he turned the key back and removed it from the igniti
on. Some people may think a truck won’t start after being stored for a couple of months, but Brad knew better. More than once he had put a car in long term storage during a deployment and returned months later to have it easily start. He looked at the dash; it was a loaded model, with four wheel drive and leather seats. The family must have been well off.

  “Yeah I’m not walking today,” Brad said as he left the vehicle and moved back into the house. He went to the hall closet and dug around, finally finding what he was looking for: a large duffle bag. He went to the dining room and stuffed all of the canned goods into the bag. Then he went to the living room and grabbed the case of water. He started walking back towards the garage before he stopped. He turned back and grabbed the empty peanut butter jar from the table. He went back to the garage and opened the passenger door on the truck and tossed in the duffle bag and water. He set the jar in the cup holder in the center console.

  He went back to the overhead door and pressed close to the tinted windows. The driveway was heavily drifted with snow. The road was heavily snowed in also; weeks of pile up and drifting wouldn’t be easy to get through. Brad checked the trucks tires. They had an aggressive tread. Obviously the owner was prepared to deal with long hard winters. “Yeah, I can do this,” he said confidently as he moved back to the truck and jumped into the driver’s seat. He put the key in the ignition and again held his breath.

  He turned the key and the engine cranked and purred to life. He looked in the rearview mirror and saw the closed door. “Yes, it would be fun to just crash through it,” Brad said, looking down at the jar. “But I don’t want to get hung up on the door, that would suck.” He laughed as he got back out of the truck, walked to the center of the door and pulled a handle attached to a red cord hanging from the opener’s track. With the opener disengaged, Brad walked to the door, turned the handle, and the torsion spring did the work, easily lifting the door.