by James Cook
Ethan and Zeb stepped into the office, followed by Davis and two of his men. The door shut behind them, and a plump little old woman with a cloud of curly gray hair and thick bifocals perched on her nose stood up from behind a modest desk.
“Sheriff Austin, what a wonderful surprise!” She stepped around the desk and approached Zeb with her arms out. The old lawman smiled and gave her a warm hug.
“Good to see you too, Margaret.”
She stepped back and turned to Ethan, one hand outstretched. “And who’s our new friend here?”
Ethan shook her hand and smiled. “Staff Sergeant Ethan Thompson, First Reconnaissance Expeditionary.”
“Ah, the famous First Recon, also known as The Wreckers. Your unit’s reputation precedes you.”
Is that a good thing or a bad thing? “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Call me Margaret. Or Governor Warren, if you want to be formal about it. I don’t care much either way. Zebulon gets to call me Margie, but that’s only because he’s so darned handsome.”
She swatted Zeb on the arm, shuffled back behind her desk with a chuckle, and motioned Ethan and Zeb toward a pair of chairs. As they sat down, Ethan was acutely aware of the presence of Sheriff Davis and his men standing behind him. Taking a breath, he forced himself to relax.
“Now Zeb, as nice as it is to see you again, I’m going to go ahead and say you’re not here on a social call.” She crossed her hands in front of her and leaned forward.
“I’m afraid not.”
He gave her the rundown of what happened to Broken Bridge, the other towns that had gone dark, and Ethan’s men finding and following the man responsible. By the time he was done, Governor Warren’s shoulders slumped and her watery blue eyes glistened with unshed tears. She stayed silent for a few long minutes, staring into nowhere. Finally, she seemed to gather herself, cleared her throat, and sat up straight.
“What happened to our neighbors is a tragedy, Zeb. One we cannot allow to go unpunished.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
She shifted her gaze to Ethan. The pleasant light that had been in her eyes earlier was gone, replaced by simmering anger and a shrewd, calculating intelligence. Ethan began to understand why the hardened people of Steel City looked to this diminutive, motherly old woman for leadership. “So your men are watching this Ragman as we speak, correct?”
He nodded. “That’s right ma’am.”
“And your scout thinks he’s preparing to stop?”
“Yes ma’am.”
She rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “Well, that gives us options. We could just have your men kill the son of a bitch, but that still leaves the question of the horde. If it’s as big as you say it is, then it most likely comprises a significant portion of the infected in our area. If we can destroy them all, it’ll go a long way toward making life safer for this town and the people we trade with.”
“We could wait until he falls asleep,” Davis said. “If he corrals the horde, it’ll make it easy to destroy them. Sergeant Thompson could have his scouts apprehend the suspect and bring him back to stand trial. Then my people could move in and deal with the infected.”
The governor glanced up skeptically. She reminded Ethan of a schoolteacher addressing an unruly child. “Sheriff, have you ever fought a horde that large before?”
It was a long instant before he answered. “No ma’am.”
“So how can you be sure your people could handle it without taking casualties, especially considering it will be dark outside in less than an hour?”
Another pause. “There’s no way to be sure, but my people know the risks, ma’am. They’ll do whatever it takes to protect this town.”
“I’m sure they would, Sheriff. I’m not calling into question their courage or their capabilities. Nor yours for that matter. But I don’t like dealing with unknowns when it’s possible to stack the odds in my favor. Furthermore, I don’t like my constituents risking their lives unnecessarily.”
Davis struggled for something to say for a few seconds, but then Zeb spoke up. “You look like you got a plan rattling around in that head o’ yours, Margie. What’re you thinking?”
She shifted her attention, letting Davis off the hook. “Well, let’s first look at what we can verify. We know, or at least strongly suspect, that this murderer used a LAW rocket to destroy the gate at Broken Bridge, correct?” She tilted her head toward Ethan.
“I can’t say with a hundred-percent certainty, but I’m pretty sure.”
“Right. And judging by the path he’s taking, it’s a safe bet he’s headed our way. If he is, and if he has access to more such weapons, he’ll most certainly use them against us in much the same manner as he did Broken Bridge. Furthermore, as we speak, this Ragman is less than five miles from our gates. The only reasonable conclusion we can draw from this is that he plans to rest before launching his assault on our town. We could simply launch a pre-emptive attack, but that leaves too many variables on the table. I don’t like variables.”
She stood up and walked toward a table in the far corner of the room. On top of it was a hand-drawn map depicting Steel City and the surrounding area. She motioned for everyone to join her, and when they had gathered around, she pointed at a series of interconnecting straight lines that represented the inner and outer wall.
“A LAW rocket is a powerful weapon, but judging by the damage it did in Broken Bridge, it’s nothing we couldn’t repair in a day’s time. That’s one of the many benefits of building our defenses with shipping containers: they’re modular. We can move them wherever we need to. We can set up a decoy at the main gate, let him in with his horde, and close the trap behind them once they’re inside. The inner wall will act as containment. But all of this will be predicated upon the Ragman believing that once he’s through the outer gate, the inner gate won’t be much of a defense. So we’ll wait until nightfall, and then very quietly switch out the inner gate with a few loaded containers. Shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.”
“Really?” Ethan asked, surprised. “I mean, shipping containers are pretty heavy even when they’re empty. The ones at the wall are full of dirt and stuff, right? How do you move them?”
The governor smiled. “Forklifts.”
“Forklifts?”
“Yes, Sergeant. Forklifts. Propane powered ones. We have quite a few at our disposal, as well as an adequate supply of fuel. Very handy machines.”
Should have thought of that. This used to be a distribution center, after all. “Right. Got it.”
“Here’s what we’ll do,” Governor Warren continued, “Sergeant Thompson, I’ll need you to stay in contact with your men and keep us all appraised of what the Ragman is doing, as well as the position of his horde. If I had to bet on it, I’d say he’s going to rest for a while, then leave the horde at some point to case the town’s defenses, assuming he hasn’t done so already. If your men can stay on his trail and report his activities to us, we’ll be able to prepare accordingly.”
“We can do that.”
“Very good. Sheriff Davis, I want you to carry on business as usual, but spread the word among your deputies about what’s going on. Quietly, if you please. We don’t want to start a panic.”
“Yes ma’am,” he said.
“Zebulon, our town’s hospitality is open to you, as always. Feel free to make yourself at home. You and your men can take a room at the guard barracks if you like. If it’s not too much trouble, though, I may need to deputize you gentlemen when the time comes to prepare for the attack. Crowd control and such. Would you be willing to help with that?”
“Of course, Margie. Whatever you need.”
“All right then. Sergeant Thompson, you can use the office next door to coordinate your efforts. There’s fresh water there, and a washbowl. I can have some food brought up if you need it.”
“I’d appreciate that. To be honest, I could use a bite to eat.”
“I’ll see to it then.” She turned and faced the room,
determination set on her small, wrinkly face.
“We have work to do, gentlemen. Let’s get it done.”
*****
As it turned out, the little government building had electricity.
Ethan hadn’t seen them walking in, but the entire south-facing side of the roof was covered in solar panels. When he mentioned to Governor Warren that the batteries on his communications equipment were beginning to run low, she directed him to a recharging station on the first floor. He connected his handset, updated his location and mission log on the ruggedized tablet, and then powered up the wideband transmitter.
His first order of business was to radio FOB Harkin. The usual indifferent private was gone this time, replaced by a much more businesslike sergeant. In just a few minutes, Colonel Lanning came on the line.
“Good to hear from you, Echo Lead. I was beginning to worry.”
“We’re doing fine, sir. I’m in Steel City as we speak.”
“Any luck finding that horde?”
“Yes sir. Not only did we locate it, we got ahead of it, and I’ve got two scouts monitoring its movement as we speak.”
“Out-fucking-standing. Did your scouts find the piece of shit leading ‘em around?”
“Affirmative. They have him under surveillance as well.”
“Surveillance? Why isn’t he dead, or at least apprehended?”
Ethan related Governor Warren’s plan to trap both the Ragman and his horde by using the walls of Steel City as a cage. After he finished, Lanning was silent for a few seconds.
“That’s a hell of a dangerous plan. Does the governor know what a LAW can do?”
“Yes sir, she’s aware,” Ethan replied. “She says she’s willing to risk it, and she says her people can fix the damage in a few hours. I’m not crazy about the idea, but I have to admit she has a point. The more infected we kill, the safer life will be going forward for the people living here.”
“What about collateral damage? How’s she going to keep her own people from getting killed?”
“That I’m not so sure of. The local sheriff is spreading the word among his men about what’s going on. I think they plan to lock the place down at nightfall and move everyone into the inner perimeter. It’s what I would do, anyway.”
“Either way, it’s on her if things go pear-shaped. What does she have you doing?”
“For now, I’m staying in touch with the scouts and keeping Warren in the loop. If I can, I’ll try to coordinate things once the horde arrives, which will probably be sometime tomorrow after dark. I’ve got the best comms gear in town, and I don’t think the governor will have a problem with letting the Army handle the dangerous stuff.”
“I imagine not. Is there anything I can do from my end?”
“Actually, there is. Do you have access to any night vision equipment?”
“I had a feeling you were going to ask for that. You have any idea how hard it is to requisition that stuff?”
“Yes sir, I do. But we’re talking about hundreds of civilian lives here. All I need is a couple of night vision scopes.”
Lanning sighed. “I think I can handle that. What about the infected, though? If this bat-shit crazy plan works, how are you going to kill them all?”
“I’m not doing shit. That part is up to the governor. But if you could spare some guys from the 82nd to help out, it would go a long way toward repairing these people’s opinions of the military. Know what I mean?”
“Understood. I’ll look into it. Keep your radio handy, Sergeant. I want regular updates. I’ll have someone contact you once your supply drop is inbound.”
“I appreciate that sir. Not just the drop, but all your help.”
“That’s what we’re here for, Staff Sergeant. Talk to you soon.”
“Copy. Echo Lead out.”
TWENTY
Gideon gnawed on stale beef jerky as he led the swarm onward.
He didn't want the food, didn't even feel like it was a necessity, but the last dregs of self-awareness in him knew his body needed fuel. It would be nightfall soon, and for the first time in twelve hours of constant movement, Gideon questioned the need to move so far off the path.
At first, it seemed logical. The road was a heavily traveled route for traders and merchants, after all. Even the end of the world wasn't enough to drive a stake through the heart of American capitalism. But after traveling for miles without spotting a single person, he began to wonder if he was on the right path. Had Gideon sobered up long enough to consider the situation clearly, he would have realized the road he walked on ran straight from Broken Bridge. The chances of anyone coming from there were slim to none.
Then again, had he been thinking clearly, he wouldn't have been killing people.
Steel City was close. Already, he could almost smell the blood, iron in his nostrils and copper on his tongue. He never tried to taste the blood, but there was always so much splattering around. Some always got in his mouth. After a while, he started to like it.
His desire to see the arrogant survivors brought low bordered on a need. There was no room left in him for pity or remorse, no hunger inside but to see bright futures snuffed out. If random chance could do it, why not him?
Another brief moment of lucidity tried to happen, but Gideon snorted a pile of powdered Meth from one dirty fingernail and cut that shit off fast. The muted flash of pleasure did nothing to obscure the facts: He'd wasted most of a day with his meandering path toward Steel City. The swarm was close—dangerously so—and could hit the place in short order. The only problem was the sun shining overhead. The attack had to be at night, as were the others. Daylight gave the enemy the ability to see and move unhindered. Night created confusion, fear, and bred mistakes.
Below the kinetic rush of twitching muscles and tremors in his hands, Gideon was tired. A deeper man might consider it emotional exhaustion as well as physical, a mind tired of the death and destruction. But he wasn't that man. Nothing close to it.
With the swarm close behind, Gideon drifted into a nearby stretch of woods. He spotted a craggy wall where a section of forest floor dropped away from the side of a hill. Twenty feet up, a ledge jutted out. He checked to make sure the majority of the swarm was still with him, then pushed up a sleeve and slashed lightly at his forearm.
Blood welled up, a scarlet almost black against his mealy skin. Gideon wasted no time scaling the weathered stone, fingers slipping into cracks with manic surety. Thirty seconds later, he sat on the ledge, feet dangling as he watched the swarm.
Dead faces gave him their undivided attention. The hungry, vacant stares were like a thousand mirrors converging on him. As much as he hated people for their freedom to live, Gideon still found room in his heart to hate these things as well. Making them his weapon was a small victory, but he took no comfort in it. Watching them pine for his blood as the scent of it wafted down the cliff brought a sneer of contempt to his wasted face.
The sea of bodies below him wavered like prairie grass. He rolled onto his side, faced toward them, and tucked his legs onto the shelf. The motion of the crowd was hypnotic, making him drowsy as he watched. Something was off about it though. Some part of the pattern didn't match up. Just as he slid off into disturbed and fruitless slumber, it hit him.
One of them is standing still.
*****
I watched Gideon sleep, which is actually creepier than it sounds since I'm a dead person. He fell off fast, like a soldier or prisoner would, no warning at all. I'd done my best to get close to him as the night transformed into day. I knew as soon as he showed up with another tank-busting weapon things were going to get bad.
Crazy people with rocket launchers. The math isn't hard.
I wanted to get closer, but the swarm had swollen to the point where even moving among them was nearly impossible. After Gideon climbed his perch and nodded off, I redoubled my efforts to connect with my body. If I wanted to get close to the bastard, I'd need more than the ability to point or turn my head. I al
ready had some gross control over direction, but it needed refinement.
So I started by standing still. It was a lot harder than it sounds.
Living people manage their balance without much thought. The constant flex of muscles and tendons are motions so small we usually don't notice them. Dead people do the same, but with less control. It's messy and awkward, exaggerated and visible.
Bearing down on the endless sway of my body as we stood there, I let the rage out in a controlled release while concentrating on being motionless. To my great surprise, it worked. More than that, I could feel my feet and legs. My mind tapped into my nervous system, making it possible to balance while standing still almost as if my body knew what was needed.
After a little while, the effort grew tiring. I held it for as long as I could, finally releasing my hold and taking a breather. There was a certain feeling when I had control, a strange sensation like the rush you get when finally figuring out a tough math problem. After a short rest, I searched for that state of mind again, letting the anger build up and flow out.
There. There.
I moved forward. Not just my body, but both of us. The steps were halting at first, buffeted on all sides by the writhing dead. I moved with increasing confidence, even managing to brush a ghoul out of my way as I walked. Such a simple thing to a living person, but so amazing to me.
I stood at the edge of the stone face, the scent of Gideon's blood wrapping around me like a warm blanket. It invaded my senses, the smell so powerful it transitioned into taste. The heady aroma sent waves of hunger through my body. It wanted the blood with a savage power that sent shivers into the reptile part of my brain.
Which was fine. I wanted it too, if for different reasons.
Night turned to day, and the sun was high overhead when Gideon woke. By that point, I had walked the crowd several times. I watched him stretch, and groan, and strap on his weapons. I watched him fill his body with poison and grin madly as he scampered down. He tossed a fresh dash of blood down the cliff, then disappeared around the side of the hill and stayed gone until the sun was low in the sky, barely an angry red lump peering over the horizon. The horde remained where it was, locked in place by the scent of his blood. When he finally came back, he looked happier than ever.
