Back from the Brink_Toward the Brink V

by Craig McDonough

  “What can you see down at the harbor Cleav, I’ll cover you.” Chess called.

  “Jeezuz! There still washing ashore, must be fucking thousands.”

  “Its all clear inside. Let’s go!” James called from the reception office.

  “All right let’s fire one long burst into them, then head inside okay?”

  “I thought you said—”

  “Never mind Chess, never mind.”

  Chess roared with laughter then took aim.

  “Fire!”

  All three emptied the last of their magazines into the foamers fifty yards below. As the foamers fell and created a feeding frenzy for the others' it presented the group with the best opportunity.

  “Let’s go!” Riley yelled.

  The sound of their heavy boots on the asphalt was like the drums of a marching band.

  “Got you covered!” James assured them as they ran inside.

  “Good to see you guys again,” Morris said as they entered.

  “This room won’t work.” Chess said as he moved over to the right side of the front window.

  Cleavon took cover at the left side.

  “Take the back window, Sam. Go with him James.” Riley said then turned back to Chess.

  “We can’t see shit from here, the angles are all wrong, the foamers can come at us from too many sides.” Chess made his points known.

  “One of the rooms at the rear of the parking lot, that would be better.” Morris suggested.

  The parking lot was surrounded on all sides by motel rooms, there was only the one entrance and exit. The drive through from the street went between the reception office and the first room of the motel. Behind the rooms at the rear, was a small laneway which was fenced at the end and at the sides and beyond that, a now empty, four wheel drive sales yard. It was the best defense they had available, attacks couldn’t come from the sides and one man with an M4 could hold off any foamers that tried to enter through the rear door of the room. With one large window at the front, a man on either side could cover the entire parking lot.

  An enclosed killing field.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Fifteen

  Chess and Cleavon covered the main road where the foamers would appear, while Morris and Riley carried Jerry—bed and all—through the parking lot and to the room at the right back corner. Sam opened the door ahead them and dashed inside for a quick check.

  “All clear.” He called .

  Riley took in a deep breath, then turned to Sam.

  “Okay, go, go, go!”

  “Lock the backdoor, Sam.” Riley heaved this way and that with the bed at the door to the room.

  “On top of it.” Sam replied.

  “This isn’t gonna fit.” Morris pulled from the inside. The door to room 17 apparently smaller in width than the doors at the front office.

  “I can see that sergeant but we can’t leave him out here.”

  “Put the bed down, get a chair and drag me in. This pulling and pushing shit ain’t helping.” Jerry raised his head and told the experienced soldiers how to do it.

  Riley had hardly put his end down when Sam appeared with a chair from inside the motel room. “This should do the job.”

  The three then eased Jerry off the bed and into the chair and as gentle as they tried to be , still caused a good deal of discomfort. They picked the chair up by the back and the front legs and pulled him through.

  “All right you sort Jerry out while Sam and I get the bed.” Riley said to Sergeant Morris.

  “Never mind the bed you need to get back to the office and get the rifles, ammunition and some supplies. I can get the fucking bed.” Morris responded.

  “All right then, come on Sam.”

  The two men raced across the asphalt when semi automatic rifle fire from the front of the motel announced the arrival of the foamers.

  “We won’t have time to get all we want. Just get rifles, ammo and some water.”

  The two picked up the spare M4’s—and didn’t forget the Weatherby this time—threw the magazines into a canvas bag and filled a cardboard box with bottled water.

  “We’ll need more than that!”

  Riley and Sam turned around and faced the door, weapons ready.

  Chess was at the door. “Easy Riley, it’s me.” Chess held up his open hands. “We’re gonna need all the ammo, food and water we have, if we’re to hold out.”

  “Why aren’t you with Cleavon out front?”

  “I gave him my extra clips so I can help you move this stuff. Don’t argue Riley, we need to move, there’s a fuckin army of dead on their way and hell is coming with them!”

  Chess had a dramatic flair with his descriptions. He once took a course on scriptwriting, with the idea Hollywood could use a real soldier to write action movies but all that sitting at a computer gave him a case of the shits so he stayed in the military—until he was offered a contract he couldn’t refuse by the devils apprentice, Holmes. When he thought about it, he realized if he hadn’t taken the offer, he would never have made the flight out of the US, wouldn’t have landed in Prince George or met Elliot, Chuck and the others'.

  And would be dead.

  That was the main reason he didn’t think about it often, too many if’s and maybe’s to fuck with your mind.

  The firing intensified now that Cleavon was left on his own. Chess helped the other two take more ammo and supplies to the room at the rear of the parking lot.

  “One moment, let me check on Cleav,” Chess told them on their way back to the office. Half a minute later, Chess rejoined Sam and Riley in the office.

  “He’s good, bought us some time, but we better make this our last trip, okay?”

  “Shotguns and shells?” Riley addressed the question to no one specifically.

  “I got ‘em.” Sam said.

  “I got the last of the 5.56 and jerky.”

  “All right looks like we… wait a minute.”

  “What, what is it Chess?” Riley’s eyes wandered about him.

  “The crossbows. We can save some ammo. Let me grab them and the bolts.”

  Sam threw Morris’ medical bag over his shoulder. “Okay then, I think we need to—”

  “Chess. Chess.” Cleavon called from outside.

  “Exactly, time to go!” Chess agreed.

  All three rushed through the door, Chess ran to get Cleavon and together they all dashed back to room 17.

  Their last stand.

  It was the Sandspit version of the Alamo, featuring Riley as William Travis, Chess as Jim Bowie, Sam as Davy Crockett and a host of others. They didn’t have the manpower, but their modern weaponry was more than formidable and the enemy was unarmed. Under any circumstances that resembled normality the odds would be in their favor, the drawback to this theory was the enemy they faced, was already dead.

  The inside of the motel room was a rectangle shape with two bed on one side a small restroom at the end, the back door and a small window. A heavy chair was placed against the front door and the two seater couch pushed up against the window sill. Jerry was placed in one bed, while the other was used as their armory. Weapons, ammo and extra magazines went there. On the desk by the single standing cupboard, the water, canned food and jerky was placed. The small refrigerators in these rooms were never connected to the generator, they sucked too much energy.

  “Where the hell…?”

  “Yeah, took the time to grab it. Knew you’d be pleased.” Sam said when he noticed Riley’s discovery of the coffee pot.

  “Well, I hope the wiring’s connected to this room then.”

  “It got connected all right but we don’t have any way of protecting the windmill.” Chess said of the wind generator.

  “Well, let’s not even think about it.” Riley waved a hand in front of him.

  “For the moment, let’s keep away from the window. I’m guessing our friends don’t know we’re here yet, let’s try and keep it that way.”

  “Sounds good to me, let
me just put the crossbows and bolts over here,” Chess gestured to the spare bed.

  Riley then turned to make an announcement, albeit a quiet one. “These will be our first weapons to use. Anyone that doesn’t know how to use one or is uncomfortable with them just has to say so, when you’re asked to take a turn. That’s all, no drama’s.”

  Everyone nodded then took a seat where they could. No one talked, silence was the order, but the tension in the room was as thick as a Chicago fog, just not as cold.

  Chess took first watch at the window, even with the curtains drawn he had a good view of the parking lot from the drive-way entrance at the front, all the way to the rooms at the back.

  Chess looked up at the old tarps strung around the edges of the parking lot. Even if clear sky remained into the night, it won’t be of any benefit to them. The covers would prevent any light from showing, they’d be in almost total darkness. If the foamers attacked a lot of ammo will be wasted in the search for a target.

  He didn’t say anything, professionals like Riley, Cleavon and Morris had probably figured it out and the others' didn’t need to have more worries piled on top of their current ones.

  Chess thought of fire, Molotov cocktails, but the danger of getting caught in the inferno was too great.

  There must be something we can do.

  He rubbed the stubble on his chin as he thought of of a way to bring down as many foamers as possible without large amounts of ammunition used.

  “Shhh, shhh, shhh,” he hissed suddenly, and waved his arm about. “We got visitors.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sixteen

  At the same time the first of the foamers wandered into the parking lot at the Sandspit motel, Chuck and Elliot had landed at the Emmett airfield. So quiet was this town, that even before the onset of the apocalypse, the only golf course surrounded the main runway.

  After coming to a stop, the occupants of the Cessna waited the customary five minutes for any movement to appear, when satisfied there was none, Elliot and Tristan jumped out and ran to the cars and trucks parked along the access road to the airport. They each returned with a vehicle from which gas would then be siphoned from. All in all the entire refuel took less than thirty minutes and Chuck had them back in the air within another five.

  “We keep this up rate and we’ll be back tonight.” Elliot said to Chuck.

  “We’ll see about that. Anyway, we’ll make our next stop just out of Portland, back at Richland, then onto Vancouver Island then home.”

  “So, do you think we’ll make it tonight?” Tom leaned forward and asked.

  “Early hours of the morning I think, provided the refueling goes okay.”

  “Goes okay?”

  “Yeah, no interferences. We’ll be doing it in the dark and it’ll slow us down, but I’d say we should land as the sun rises.”

  “A dawn return.” Tom made it sound prophetic.

  “Yeah, that’ll give the others' back at Sandspit a wake up surprise, I’ll bet!” Elliot commented.

  “I’m sure that lot have done nothing but sleep till noon since we been gone. I might have to buzz the town to wake ‘em up!” Chuck wisecracked.

  “Anyway, they be glad to see us all. Probably haven’t had any excitement since we left.” Elliot added.

  The urgency he and Chuck had once felt about returning had dissipated once they got under way.

  At least for the moment.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Seventeen

  Five foamers had entered the parking lot, whether by accident or design it didn’t matter.

  “We can take five.” Chess was adamant about his plan.

  “But if they make a sound others' will come.” Riley, the voice of reason, countered.

  “You think they’re gonna call for help?”

  “Don’t be a smart ass Chess but—”

  “But let’s stop fucking around. Look, Sam opens the door, Cleav and me fire a bolt from the crossbows, pass them back in return for loaded ones. A single bolt to the head—they might squirm a bit—but they won’t go anywhere.”

  “All right. But I have to stop letting you talk me into these things.”

  “You’re just a big sweetie and you know it.”

  “Oh knock it off. Honestly, the forces must have gone downhill after I left.”

  Riley’s remark would have brought a round of laughter under normal circumstances—but this was anything but, and silence was golden.

  “Okay Cleav, you ready?”

  “Right with you.”

  Chess took a position on one knee just to the side of the door and Cleavon stood behind him. Both had loaded compound crossbows at the ready and waited for Sam to open the door. This motel didn’t have screen doors to worry about. As soon as Sam pulled the door back, Chess and Cleavon would move into position and fire.

  They had predetermined their targets.

  “…two, three, go!” Sam yanked back on the door.

  In an instant Chess and Cleavon were in position, an audible click and twang of the crossbow, the only sound as it released its tiny missiles.

  Both bolts slammed into their intended target—the foreheads of the first two foamers.

  “Damn!” Sam forgot himself his expression of excitement a little too loud.

  Riley didn’t respond but pursed his lips together—hard.

  “Come on!” Chess whispered, like the hiss of a snake, to the men behind him who were to forward the loaded crossbows.

  Fortune favors the brave and the foamers struck first didn’t make too loud a sound. There was some thrashing about on the asphalt but that appeared to cover Sam’s ill-timed excitement from reaching beyond the motel room.

  Chess and Cleavon didn’t wait and repeated their previous action.

  Four down one to go.

  “There’s only one left you want both bows?” Morris, who loaded the crossbows with Riley, asked.

  “Yeah, Cleavon can cover should I miss.”

  Chess was a good operator Riley noted. Insured every action as best he could. He was glad things turned out for the best with him, he had proven himself indispensable to the survival of the group.

  The back-up wasn’t needed, Chess’ aim was on target. Five foamers now littered the ground of the parking lot. Three still thrashed like fish out of water while, the first two were as cold as a mother-in-laws kiss—which they probably were in the first place.

  “Glad there was no wind,” Cleavon remarked.

  “Yeah… that could have made for problems that’s for sure.” Chess agreed.

  On an island in the North Pacific, that was a mercy of no small account.

  “Damn, guys I’m sorry about before I…” Sam offered.

  “It’s all right, no harm was done.” Chess said and slapped Sam on the shoulder.

  “Let’s wait until they stop shaking before we retrieve the bolts.”

  “Are you crazy, you wanna go out there?” Riley confronted Chess.

  “Yeah, that’s the beauty of the ammo—its reusable.”

  “But you might attract other foamers if they’re near.”

  “I’ll be careful Riley, I promise.”

  Sam closed the door and kept watch from the window. “Looks like the duck and drakes have stopped.”

  “Ducks and what?” Riley turned and asked.

  “Ducks and drakes—the shakes, its English rhyming slang.”

  Just what we need. An American who talks like Humphrey Bogart, walks like John Wayne and now express’ himself with English slang. Great, just fucking great. Riley shook his head.

  “All right wait just a moment longer to make sure there are no others' nearby.” Chess stepped up close to the door.

  “You can’t go by yourself.”

  “Well you can’t come, you’re not fast enough and—”

  “We’ll see about that whipper-snapper!” Riley moved up right behind Chess.

  “Okay, but don’t hold me back.”

  Riley nodded,
but the thought he’d just been suckered into this nagged away at him.

  “Wait, take our boots off.” Chess said.

  “What?”

  “Take em off. We’re heavier than foamers, we’ll make more noise with our boots on, but not in our socks. We’ll be as stealthy as ninja’s!”

  Chess’ tactics made sense—again.

  The two bootless former soldiers rushed out of the motel room and directly to a fallen zombie. Cleavon covered them with an M4 from the door, while Morris did the same from the window.

  Under no circumstances were they to speak. That had been agreed upon before they left the room.

  As he reached the first foamer—an emaciated mess of tattered skin, protruding bones and withered body mass—Riley thought about Elliot’s early belief the foamers could smell humans, and Riley wondered about their body-odor.

  No matter now, we’re out here—just do it!

  He took a hold of the bolt the stuck out of the foamers head and pulled.

  “Oh, shit!” Riley fell back onto the asphalt, his hands held the crossbow bolt in front of him and attached to the bolt was the foamers head.

  “Fuck!” He put his sock-covered foot on top the head and with some difficulty pulled the bolt free. The sound reminded Riley of stepping on eggs.

  “Riley be quiet!” Chess hissed at him from a few feet away.

  Riley held onto his stomach as he repeated the process—without removing the head—on the next foamer.

  “All right, we’ve got all of them let’s go.” Chess whispered.

  “Throw your sock away.” Chess said just outside the door.

  Riley was caught off-guard for a moment before the realization hit him. He’d stood on a foamers head with just his sock on. A foamer complete with blood and gunk and splatter.

  “Right.”

  I’ll wash my foot the moment I get inside too. Riley said to himself. Don’t need to turn into a foamer just for a fucking crossbow bolt.