The Brother's Creed_Book 3_Wolf Pack

by Joshua C. Chadd

  “Yeah,” Emmett said. He wanted to like Troy, but he was almost too likable, and that irritated him.

  “Bars on the windows, the brush guard, shooting bench, and is this bulletproof glass?” Greg asked.

  “Yeah, the body is bulletproof, too.”

  “It almost seems like you were prepared for this,” Greg said.

  “I was,” Emmett said. “I like to be prepared for anything. After my years in the corps, I decided to take precautions in case anything happened.”

  Emmett glanced over at him. While Greg might not have meant anything by it, Emmett had picked up on something in Greg’s voice. Greg faced forward, not looking at him.

  “Good thing,” Greg said.

  “Yeah,” Troy said. “It really helped us out.”

  Emmett nodded.

  He was beginning to dislike both men for two completely different reasons. He found himself wishing James and Connor were here. When he was around those two, it was easy to see how unhinged and dangerous they were. But when compared to these people, he would gladly take the brothers in any state. If they could just get a grip on their emotions, they’d work like a well-oiled machine. Thinking about them made him think about his own brother. If he had Alex here with him, they’d be unstoppable, just like those early years in the corps. How he wished he could have his brother back. His mind strayed down the path it always did when he started to think about him. He’d not only lost his brother but his marriage as well and… Mason.

  They arrived at the highway just then and Emmett buried those thoughts. No time to think about his failures in life now. He drove across the highway and down the driveway to the house they’d seen. Slowing, he stopped by the house. There were three vehicles parked out front.

  “That doesn’t look very promising,” Lucas said.

  “No, it doesn’t,” Troy said.

  The three vehicles looked like they’d been sitting there for years, and the house looked the same. Part of the roof had caved in and a tarp was tied over it. Some of the windows were missing glass and plywood now covered them. Either this house hadn’t been lived in for years or the person living there had very little money to spend on renovations.

  “Stay frosty,” Emmett said, getting out of the truck. “We don’t know what’s around here.”

  The rest climbed out. Emmett walked over to the vehicles and inspected them more closely. If they even started, they wouldn’t make it more than five miles down the road. On the other end of the house was a large, makeshift shed made up of different pieces of sheet metal. The entrance had a tarp strapped over it and the edges blew in the gusting wind, making a snapping sound. With the ACR to his shoulder, Emmett approached cautiously. Greg kept an eye on the house while Lucas and Troy checked the other vehicles scattered in the field. They’d have no luck there. All of them looked like rusty shells rather than actual working vehicles.

  The tarp blew in a gust, showing Emmett the inside, and his pulse spiked. They hadn’t seen him yet and somehow hadn’t heard the truck pull up, probably because of the wind. Backing up slowly, he kept his eyes forward.

  “Hey, Emmett!” Troy yelled. “We might have something!”

  Emmett cursed under his breath as the infecteds’ heads snapped toward the noise.

  “Get ready!” Emmett yelled. “We have company!”

  The first infected stumbled past the tarp and out into the sunlight. With the reticle of his scope settling on its head, he pulled the trigger. The suppressed gunshot cracked and its head snapped back. Before the first body hit the ground, he’d fired again, taking down another. Four more poured from the exit and Emmett continued to fire as he slowly backed up. Two more hit the ground, but now there were eight of them coming at him from the makeshift building.

  “The house!” Greg yelled as he ran toward the truck.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Emmett caught sight of Greg stopping and shooting at the house as four infected poured from a hole in the side. Lucas and Troy were behind Greg, trying to shoot them with the handguns, and failing. They were over twenty yards away—not an easy shot for the untrained.

  A dozen infected shambled toward Emmett from the makeshift building. “Get to the truck!” he yelled, shooting once more and then turning.

  He sprinted for the truck. Lucas and Troy were almost there. Looking back, he found that three infected were almost on Greg. He stopped and aimed at them. With three quick shots, they were down and Greg was at the truck. Sensing the horde closing in on him, Emmett spun around. An infected reached for him only a few inches from the end of his barrel. It took a round in the face and so did the next one. He took a quick step back, tripping on a rock. Falling to his back, the wind was knocked from his lungs. He leaned forward, aiming at the remaining creatures that were closing in on him. Two were already at his feet. He shot one in the head but the other fell to its knees, grabbing his leg.

  18

  Consequences

  Post-outbreak day eight, early morning

  Chloe sat in the Hummer, her thoughts matching the darkness outside. She’d known in her heart they’d only have one chance to get free and that it would have to be her, but she couldn’t tell the others. It needed to be believable. Bryce may have been a little crazy, but he was smart and suspicious. The plan had just fallen into place and she’d gone with it. Pulling the trigger hadn’t been the hard part; watching Bryce die had been. That was part of the reason she’d shot him in the head. She couldn’t stand to see him suffer, and she’d fled as soon as she could. It was the first time she’d killed anything.

  Now she sat there, her mind not allowing her to rest. She needed to see him again. Slipping the handgun into her pocket, she climbed out of the Hummer. Going around to the back, she opened it, grabbing one of the helmets from a bag. It took her a minute but she finally figured out how to turn the night vision on. With the helmet secure on her head, handgun in her pocket, and looking at the world through a green filter, she went back into the pavilion. In the little corner room, still lying on the bed, was the body. She approached him, her heart pounding in her chest.

  I did that, she thought. I killed him. Ended a life.

  Bile rose in her throat. How could she have done that? Looking down at him, she found herself feeling sorry for him. He’d threatened them and kept them hostage, but he’d never hurt them. Yet, she’d killed him. Didn’t even hesitate. Without even thinking, she’d grabbed the gun, pointed it at him, and pulled the trigger. Now he was dead, lying in a pool of his own congealed blood.

  “I’m sorry,” Chloe whispered. “I didn’t want to do it, but I had to. We had to get free. I’m so sorry.”

  She began to cry. His blood was on her hands and she’d never be able to wash it off. She’d taken a life. Sitting down at the foot of his cot, she pulled her helmet off and let the tears flow freely. She cried for Bryce, who hadn’t deserved to die, for her parents who were probably dead, and for herself. Most of all she cried for herself. Her whole life she’d tried to do what was right, not because of some religion telling her she had to, but because she wanted to—helping people, being nice, caring, and loving. Yet she’d always had a hard time doing it. Most people annoyed her and she always had a retort for them. Her parents had never been the nice type, and her dad used to tell her, “Trust no one. They’ll always disappoint you.” It wasn’t until years later she’d realized how far that was from the truth, but it was hard for her to fight her natural instincts. To top it all off, she’d just shot someone.

  Sometime later, her tears began to dry up. Wiping them away, she stood and picked up her discarded helmet. She had to do something to get her mind off of this. Flipping the NVGs down, she looked around, and something on a box next to Bryce’s cot caught her attention. It was a small leather book. She picked it up and looked at the front page. It was his personal journal. There were dates going all the way back to the first of the year and all the way up to tonight. Going out to the Hummer, she climbed int
o the driver’s seat and turned the dome light on.

  She flipped to the earliest entry.

  January 2nd,

  New Year’s resolution. I’ll quit drinking. He wouldn’t have wanted me to mourn him this way. He was too young to die. He only had twelve years. My little Elliot. He would have been ashamed of me. I can’t have that. I’ll stop drinking and maybe even go see a shrink.

  She flipped forward a few pages.

  April 23rd,

  I’m still hearing his voice. What has it been now, six months? It seems like I lost him just yesterday. The shrink says it’s part of the normal bereavement stage. But I responded to him the other day and we held a conversation for five whole minutes! You can’t tell me that’s normal. I’m also starting to see him. Not directly, just out of the corner of my eye. Oh, Allie, how I wish you were still here. You would know just what to do.

  She skipped ahead.

  June 1st,

  My shrink was right. I just need to accept this as normal. Now everything is like it was. I have my son back. We talk constantly and he follows me around everywhere I go, except to work, of course, I put a movie on for him. He loves How to Train Your Dragon and he’s still watching it when I get back. Work is getting tougher. It’s just so hard to be away from him now. But that’ll all change soon. I put in to move to a field unit, and since those guys do nothing but train anyway, I’ll have more time to be home. I don’t know why they want an analyst anyway, but it pays better and will be more flexible. I’ll just need to be ready for the call that won’t ever come.

  She turned to the last page. It had two entries on it.

  June 30th,

  We captured some survivors today. Not sure if they’re part of the other group or not. They seem different, not as violent. Elliot likes the girl, says she reminds him of mom. Not sure what we’re going to do with them. We want to trust them, but we know better. We’ll think on it, but we know what way we’re leaning. Nothing can compromise the mission. We have to recover everything. The boss won’t be happy if we don’t find everything and everyone. I just finished burying Gary out back last night.

  We can’t trust the three, only Chloe. She is nice and we like her. She can stay. We have to kill the others. We need to come up with a way so she doesn’t suspect us. Maybe poison their food? No, if she eats some of theirs, she’ll die. We can’t have that. Elliot needs a mother to help raise him. There aren’t many eligible women left. We just need to come up with a way. We’ll sleep on it and decide in the morning. We’ll do it tomorrow.

  Chloe closed the journal, tucking it under her arm. She felt somewhat better now. Yes, Bryce was tormented by the death of his son, but he’d been planning to kill the guys and take her as his wife. She still felt bad for him and horrible about herself, but she’d acted and it’d saved her friends. That was all she needed to know.

  Turning the dome light off, she tossed the journal into the passenger’s seat. She stared out the windshield, the moonlight reflecting off something in the distance. Putting her helmet back on, she looked in that direction and saw the vehicle Tank had been eyeing. She wished she could find the keys for that. Tank would love it. Immediately following that thought, she wondered why she cared, but she did. She’d hated the man, but the more time she spent around him, the more she found herself liking him.

  There was still plenty of time. She might as well go look for the keys. She jumped out and walked back into the pavilion. Going to Bryce’s body, she checked his pockets. Sure enough, in a pocket on his jacket was a set of keys. She went back outside and hit the unlock button. The lights flashed on the last vehicle in the line.

  “Yes!”

  That was easy. Going over to the Hummer, she jumped into the driver’s seat and was about to start it, but something stopped her. It was night and everything was quiet. If she started this thing up, it would not only be loud but the lights would turn on. That left only one option. She’d have to carry everything. It actually worked out, because she wanted to be busy anyway. It took her fifteen minutes to haul everything from the back of the Hummer to the back of the Terradyne Gurkha LAPV. She then went into the supply pavilion and started grabbing all the food and water she could, filling the back of the LAPV. She set their backpacks on the seat in the third row. Having done that, she checked the Hummer one last time, and it was a good thing. She’d forgotten Tank’s iPod and Bryce’s journal. Back in the LAPV, she searched the glove box until she found the manual. With nothing better to do, she read through it.

  It was built on the frame of a Ford F-550 Super Duty that was then outfitted with ballistic protection. It had military-grade tires, exterior and interior bullet-proofing armor, including the windows, blast-mitigating floor and seats, solid metal bumper with a winch on the front, and all the interior amenities of a top-of-the-line truck. Even though she understood little about how the engine was upgraded and the suspension was special, she did understand one thing—this vehicle was almost indestructible.

  Returning the manual to the glove box, she locked the doors and leaned the seat back. She was exhausted from hauling all the gear. Some of the bags had weighed well over fifty pounds. The guys were going to love this thing, especially Tank. Things would probably get bloody when they fought amongst themselves about who was going to drive, but she had little doubt Tank would end up claiming the vehicle. And this time there was no way he could wreck it. Not that he did any of the other times, but she had to make sure to mention that. It’d piss him off. Thinking about Tank brought the memory of him hugging her to mind, and that thought made her smile as she dozed off.

  19

  The Chase

  Post-outbreak day eight, early morning

  Ana watched in her rearview mirror as the headlights continued to gain on her. She needed to do something, quick. Making it north of Sheridan on I-90 had been a miracle. She figured the truck would have died long before, but it was still going strong, minus the fact that smoke kept rising from the engine and obscuring her vision. Otherwise, things were going great. She was being chased by what seemed like all of the remaining Reclaimers, and her truck was going to stop running or explode any second, but even with all that, this was the most alive she’d felt in a long time. There was no one for her to protect, no one to worry about but herself. She hadn’t realized how caged and stressed she’d been with the rest of the group, especially after they’d rescued all the people from Burns.

  But now she was alone and it felt right. She should’ve left a long time ago. Her mind flashed back to Emmett, Alexis, and Jane rescuing her in the mall, and to and all the time she and Alexis had spent in the backseat of the truck. They’d been a family, or the closest thing she had anymore. Her heart ached. She would miss them.

  Oh stop it, she told herself. I’m perfectly happy on my own.

  It would be much easier this way. There was still a part of her that regretted leaving them, but she’d never had any intention of meeting them at the border. Her priority was to lead the Reclaimers away. If she happened to live through the night, she’d deal with that later. For now she had to focus on killing them. Mainly Jezz. Because with her alive, Ana had no doubt that she would hunt them all to the end of the Earth to pay them back for what they’d done. That was just the type of crazy she was.

  Glancing over, she took stock of her weapons. The AK-47 sat in the passenger seat, along with three full magazines, including the one in it. That was it. That’s all she had. Well, that and an old tire iron lying on the floorboard in the back seat. She didn’t think it’d be very effective trying to take on probably two dozen Reclaimers, but it was the only option she had. The farther she made it, the more likely it would be that Alexis and the rest would escape.

  She continued to drive north. The interstate made a jog west for a bit but then straightened and turned north again. She passed a blue sign that read, “Welcome to Montana.” Not that it mattered now, but she’d always wanted to come here. Now she could say she’d been t
o Montana, and all it’d taken was the end of civilization.

  After almost an hour of driving, she decided it was time to make her move. The horizon was beginning to brighten and she was losing the cover of night. The Reclaimers had gained on her, but they were still far enough behind for her ambush to work.

  Up ahead, there were a couple of crashed vehicles in her lane. If she added her truck to them, it’d stop the Reclaimers dead in their tracks. They could always go into the median to get around, of course, but it would slow them, at least. A line of trees sat east of the interstate and would be the perfect place for her to hide where they couldn’t follow with vehicles. She’d get them on the defensive, then run for it and hopefully escape.

  She turned the lights off and then the truck itself. It began to slow and she pulled the parking brake. The truck squealed and shuddered to a stop, lightly slamming into the two other vehicles, forming a makeshift barricade. She grabbed her rifle, magazines, and the tire iron. Running into the ditch to the east, she hopped the barbed wire fence and charged into the trees, then dropped to a knee behind the largest tree she could find. Shoving the tire iron into her belt behind her back and the magazines into her pockets, she readied herself. The AK-47 had a red-dot sight, which would be perfect for the hundred-or-so-yard shots. She rested the wooden handguard in a notch on the tree.

  Just as she finished situating herself, the Reclaimers slowed by the barricade. She’d thought maybe she could just bail and they would continue on, but she’d scrapped that plan when she realized the smoking truck would be a dead giveaway. The line of six vehicles stopped completely and she aimed at the front one, waiting for the right moment. The man in the passenger’s seat opened the door and stepped out, looking around. Before he’d fully settled on the ground, a 7.62x39mm bullet tore through his chest. He collapsed as the driver looked over, reaching for his gun. She fired again, the bullet tearing through the driver’s shoulder.