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

by Lundy, W. J.

  Brad moved back, examining another of the dead. “Zombies? But what about the … no … Zombies, no way, zombies don’t have heartbeats, they can’t bleed without a pumping heart?”

  “Yup, close enough. We’ve suspected it all along Brad, but it never fit the mold till now. Let’s just get past the elephant in the room, these are fucking zombies. I’m calling it,” Sean declared.

  “But … they still bleed?” Brad mumbled.

  “I mean yeah, before … yeah some still run and they’re fast, even smart sometimes, and we can kill them, and make em’ bleed. But I don’t know, maybe it’s the cold, maybe they get like this the longer they are infected, but look at these things, this guy’s fucking skin is frozen and peeling off its bones. That kinda shit ain’t right.”

  Sean nodded, looking down at the things around him in the snow before continuing to voice his thoughts. “Yeah, maybe the virus preserves the organs, keeps the heart pumping when they should lay down and die. We already know it does something to the brain, that’s why they are so strong, so hard to put down.”

  Brad stared at the creatures, shaking his head. “We need to get out of here, like at the crash site, more will follow … it’s not safe here.”

  “We need to figure out what to do with Hahn … I was gonna suggest one of us stay with him while the other goes for help, but that won’t work, especially if the Alphas show up after dark,” Sean said.

  Brad shook his head adamantly, “He’ll walk, and when he can’t walk we carry him.”

  Sean looked at Brad, nodding his head. “Let’s go before another wave shows up.” He turned and walked towards the cabin.

  While Brad prepared Hahn to move, Sean rummaged through the building, stuffing anything usable into his rucksack. He located Brad’s full ruck near the bunks and carried it outside. He rushed back to the porch to see Brad wearing the scavenged boots.

  “Primal skin boots, very stylish this time of year,” Sean said.

  “Fuck you very much, you ready to go poke ass, or you just gonna play in the cabin all day?” Brad retorted.

  Within minutes they were loaded up and ready. Hahn was on his feet. The drugs had fully kicked in. He was leaning drunkenly against the woodpile while Sean and Brad finished suiting up. Smiling and staring off into the distance, Hahn lifted his good arm and pointed across the field at the opening near the road. “Ha, look at that would ya, more of them, they just keep on coming,” Hahn laughed.

  Brad stopped and turned. He could see them, more this time, walking in a tight group and headed his way. He lifted the rifle and prepared to fire. Sean looked at him and shook his head. “Save your ammo, we can lose them in the trees.”

  “You sure, Sean, there are a lot of them,” Brad asked.

  “Yeah I’m sure, we don’t have enough ammo for a sustained fight. Grab your boy and move out, I’m right behind you.”

  Brad grabbed Hahn by the good arm and pushed him ahead. Hahn stepped off, sometimes losing his balance in the snow with his one side immobilized. When he slipped or began to trip, Brad steadied him. They followed the cabin around to the back until they found the old tracks leading off into the distance, the tracks the others had used to evade the primals. Hahn was hurting but he was able to keep a good pace. Brad and Sean had split his gear and taken his rifle to help lessen his burden.

  Hahn suggested they leave him behind, that he would only slow them down. Brad encouraged him not to quit. They both reassured Hahn that he didn’t have to outrun Brad and Sean, only the slow-moving primals. Brad’s fear was that more of the fast movers would show up, or even worse, the Alphas. He wanted to push as far away from the cabin as possible before the sun went down.

  19.

  The men followed the tracks across the field and into the trees. The snow here had grown wet and heavy, making it easy to see their friends’ tracks, and also the tracks of the primals that had followed them. Even with Hahn’s constant coughing and unsteady feet they were able to move along the trail at a steady pace and break contact with their own batch of following primals. They moved through a band of thick trees and along a high bend. Here the trail broke and ran parallel with the top of the ridgeline.

  The top of the hill was slippery, and Brad could see where several of the pursuing primals had lost their footing and fallen down the far side of the ridge. He moved closer to Hahn and kept a close eye on him, worried that he may also fall down the steep slope. Ahead the ridgeline faded and the trail cut sharply to the right. Brad moved ahead of Hahn and rounded the blind spot first.

  Brad slowed and raised his rifle as he stepped around the blind corner. Farther down the trail he saw several bodies lying face down in the snow. Brad stopped and probed the scene with his rifle’s optics. Hahn and Sean slowly moved up behind him. Sean tapped Brad, signaling for him to patrol forward. As they got closer they could clearly see that the bodies in the snow were all primals dressed in random arrangements of civilian attire.

  They moved beyond the bodies and saw patches of packed down snow where the soldiers had hidden. There were small piles of brass along the trail and then more tracks that led away. Only now there were only boot prints; no more primal footprints trailed the path of the fighters.

  “Smart. They set an ambush and cut down their pursuers here,” Sean said.

  “What about us, should we think of doing the same thing?” Brad asked.

  “I don’t think so, like you said this is like the crash site. I fear we will have these slow movers on our trail until we manage to lose them. Good thing is the slow ones don’t seem to be good trackers.”

  Brad nodded his agreement and began to step forward when he heard Hahn fall to the ground behind him. He reached down to help him to his feet, but Hahn just looked up at him, his face pale and dazed. Brad grabbed him under the shoulders and lifted him up. Hahn grunted and with his head down slowly began marching forward, following the boot prints in the snow. Brad looked down at his hands and could see they were covered in bright red blood.

  Brad showed his hands to Sean. Sean nodded, “He’s bleeding badly. I don’t know what to do.”

  “Maybe a tourniquet on that arm?” Brad suggested, keeping his voice low as they trailed Hahn.

  “I already did that, I tried loosening it earlier but he started bleeding again. I think we’re going to have to remove the bite shirt and really get at the wound, I just don’t want contaminated clothing touching the wrong thing,” Sean said.

  “As soon as we can find some shelter we will clean him up and peel off the shirt. We’re going to have to risk exposure to the infection. If we don’t, he’s going to bleed out,” Brad whispered.

  The trail continued downhill and slowly the terrain opened up. They found themselves walking along a high fence row. Brad had moved out front taking point, keeping Hahn behind him with Sean. The terrain had softened, some of the snow even dissipating, exposing long treks of green grass. Brad continued to patrol forward and spotted a road ahead in the distance. He halted and waited for Sean and Hahn to catch up to his position.

  Brad watched Hahn stagger forward. His head was hanging low, and Sean was holding him under his good arm, guiding him forward. When they moved up next to Brad, Sean dropped his pack near a fence post and slowly lowered Hahn into a sitting position. Hahn rested and leaned back deeply against the post, his head swaying side to side.

  Sean looked up at Brad and shook his head, his face grim. Then he walked past Brad, stepping towards the road and signaling for Brad to follow him. They moved down towards a tall pair of trees.

  “Hand me the spotting scope.”

  Brad removed it from his pack and handed it over. Sean used it to scout the road. “Hahn is in bad shape, only thing moving him now is raw guts,” Sean said. Keeping his eye to the glass.

  “I know.”

  Sean continued to scan the far off road before pausing and turning a dial on the scope to bring some far off object into focus.

  “Brad, from here it looks like there may
be tire tracks down there on that road.”

  “No way?” Brad said, surprise in his voice. Sean passed the scope to him.

  Brad focused on the twisting line hundreds of yards off in the distance. Much of the road was still covered with snow. There were spots where the wind and drifts had swept the road clean, leaving black patches of exposed asphalt. Brad steadied himself against one of the trees and traced the road with the scope. He could make out a pair of cuts through the snow. It could definitely be tire tracks, or just sets of footprints running side by side.

  Sean disagreed on the footprint theory as the tracks were too uniform, and said they must be from a four-wheeled vehicle. Either way, they agreed that they needed to get Hahn to the road and to shelter quickly. There were only a couple of hours of daylight left. One thing they did know, the primals were still more active at night and they wanted to be secured before then.

  When they moved back to Hahn they found him unconscious. Brad felt his neck and checked for a pulse. “It’s weak, Sean, we need to treat these wounds.”

  “Not here, not now,” Sean answered. “Let’s get moving to the road. We’ll follow it north, roads will have structures sooner or later. We’ll stop and clear the first thing.”

  “Hahn might not make it that far.”

  “Brad, if we start exposing him out here in the open he won’t make it anyway. I’m not a fucking doctor, but I’m sure if the hypothermia don’t get him the blood loss will.”

  “Fine then let’s move, I’ll carry him first.”

  Brad tightened the straps on his pack, then moved in front of Hahn. Sean lifted the unconscious man to his feet as Brad took his good arm and hoisted him to his back in a modified fireman’s carry. “Damn, he’s heavier than he looks,” Brad said.

  “I’ll lead the way. I’m going to set a quick pace, I’ll trade off with you as soon as you need it.”

  “Just go,” Brad grunted, trying to adjust the man’s weight on his shoulders.

  Sean had told the truth, he stepped off fast, leading the way to the road. Brad marched forward, focusing on the ground in front of him and coordinating every step with the heavy load on his back. He began to feel the burning in his quad again. With all of the abuse his body had taken over the last few days he had begun to forget about the old wound. Brad welcomed the pain, it gave him something to think about beside the ache in his back and neck.

  Sean made it to the road, scouted ahead, then ran back to help Brad lower Hahn to the ground. They checked his vitals. He was still breathing, and still had the faint pulse. “They are definitely tire tracks, looks like a large truck, and they’re fresh too,” Sean said.

  “What do you think?” Brad asked.

  “Doesn’t matter at this point. We’ll stay north, sticking to the road. You take point, I’ll carry for a while.”

  They traded off Hahn, Brad helping to situate him onto Sean’s shoulders. Brad stepped off first, moving out ahead and taking point on the right-hand side of the road. Sean allowed him to get several meters ahead so they could react to any threats. The road traveled through high country. To the right the land sloped up and away into rocky wooded terrain. The left sloped down along a wide open meadow of sorts before being met by the heavy forest.

  The road traveled gradually downhill, with the high ground to the right. The way the terrain lined up it allowed for an expansive view of the road ahead and the surrounding countryside. Brad continued marching forward, stopping often to look back and make sure Sean was still behind him. Brad stuck to the right side of the road, trying to stay on the dry pavement to avoid leaving tracks.

  Brad saw that Sean was falling behind, so he walked to the center of the road and looked closer at the tire tracks while waiting for Sean to catch up. They were deep treads like you would see on a large truck, possibly military. The vehicle had a wide wheel base, and was probably heavy with the way it cut through the larger drifts. But most importantly the tracks were clear and fresh, probably less than eight hours old.

  He stood from the road as he saw Sean approach. “You need to trade off.”

  “I’m good, keep stepping,” Sean said back.

  Brad nodded and continued his march down the road. He studied the wide open terrain. It would be hard for a primal to sneak up on them out here, but there would also be no place to hide if the Alphas came after them. The thought gave Brad a shiver as he tried to get his mind back to the road. As he marched he began to take note of his situation. He was no longer moving tactical, his rifle was hanging from its sling, his arms crossing his chest with his fingers tucked into his vest. The days of living on edge had taken a toll on him; his body and mind were ready for a break.

  Brad continued to walk the road and began to daydream of marches back at Fort Benning, the drill sergeants yelling at them to keep their rifles up, forcing them to hold the weapon just off of their chests until their arms burned from the strain. No breaks, overstuffed packs, eating MREs on the side of the road, then spending the night in a shallow-dug hole or ranger grave. The long forced marches were a rite of passage back then, a requirement to pass and become a soldier. A feat of mind over matter, putting one foot in front of the other until it was over.

  Those marches had taught them not to quit, that they would always eventually cross that finish line. That was then; now he was beginning to lose thought of that finish line, that feeling of accomplishment. This just seemed to be another endless hike down a long, long road. Looking deep in the distance he began to see a glimmer of movement or an object. Brad was unsure if it was a mirage from staring at the same terrain for so long, it could just be a glimmer of sunlight off the melting snow. He hesitated to call a halt, waiting to give warning to Sean.

  The road dipped ahead of him and he watched the object fade. It took his fatigued brain a moment too long to register what he was observing. The wasted moment took away his advantage. Quickly Brad turned behind and yelled for Sean to get off the road. Brad spun back forward just as a large blue truck came back into view as it climbed out of the dip. The truck was moving fast down the center of the road. As it got closer, Brad at first considered raising his rifle but fought the temptation. He did not want to appear a threat to people that may be able to help them.

  The truck maintained its speed and continued on in the center lane. Brad took a step back towards the shoulder of the road, still staring at the truck. He could make out two figures in the cab and another man in the bed of the truck standing over the cab with a long gun in his hands. The truck continued closing the distance. As it passed Brad, the driver turned his head to look at him. Brad saw the man’s eyes go wide with surprise. At the same time the man in the bed of the truck began slapping the roof of the cab.

  The tires squealed on bits of dry pavement and the truck skidded to a stop, then backed up until it was even with Brad. He stood, watching the men as the truck’s window lowered. The man in the back turned to face Brad. The driver was no more than a teenager, and the one standing guard in the back looked even younger. The driver looked at Brad with a smile and yelled to him. “Wha’dyat? I thought you was a creeper!”

  Brad, still puzzled and surprised to see the vehicle, found himself at a loss for words. He took a half step forward and began to mumble.

  “Are ya okay, friend?” the boy in the bed of the truck shouted with a thick accent, joining the conversation.

  Sean continued walking towards Brad. As he got closer he knelt down and slowly lowered Hahn to the ground. He dropped his pack and used it to prop up Hahn’s body. As Sean finished he joined Brad by the side of the road, slapping Brad on the shoulder then looking to the truck. “I think we’ll be okay now,” he said, smiling.

  “You Americans?” the boy in the driver’s seat asked.

  “Yes sir we are,” Sean answered. “Where did you all come from? We haven’t seen anyone alive in days.”

  “Your man … is he bit? He looks about as bad as a boiled boot,” the boy asked, ignoring the question.

 
; Sean shook his head. “No, hurt bad though, do you have a safe place to go?”

  The boy began to speak as the other man in the truck’s cab grabbed his shoulder. Brad could make out the sharp words of an argument. The thick accents made it difficult for him to follow the conversation. Brad looked back to the bed of the truck and made eye contact with the guard. He was very young, barely out of his teens. He held a pump shotgun loosely in his hands, the gun old was battered, a stretch of black tape looped around the stock to repair a large split in the wood. He didn’t hold the weapon in a threatening way, but where he could still quickly bring it to action. By the way the gun rested in the pocket of his right arm, the boy looked like he had used it before.

  Brad smiled and nodded to the boy-guard in the back, who smiled and returned his nod. “Are you soldiers? I never seen uniforms like that, but I have seen them kinds of guns before, on games and such.”

  Brad considered the question; he was wearing the canvas coat from the old couple’s closet and his filthy Multicam uniform trousers; the shemagh had been tied around his head and he was wearing the leather primal skin boots. He no longer looked to be any kind of conventional soldier. I must look like a real shitbag to these strangers, he thought as he tried to conceal his laughter.

  “I guess we don’t look quite the part anymore, but we are soldiers, just trying to make it home,” Brad said, finally finding his voice.

  The boy-guard smiled. “I thought so, I like your back pack.” He laughed.

  “Yeah it’s heavy and holds a lot—” Brad said as he was cut off by the boy driving the truck.

  The boy leaned from the cab again. “We can bring you back, we have a safe place, but you will have to give up your guns,” the boy said.

  “I’m sorry friends, but for our safety and yours it’s important we keep our weapons,” Sean said casually.

  The second man in the cab obviously didn’t like this answer and he again stole the attention of the driver. The boy-guard in the back rolled his eyes and leaned against the cab. “They carry on like this all the time,” he said.