Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse (Book 9): Frayed

by Chesser, Shawn

“How long you going to hold the need for adrenaline hostage, Cade Grayson?”

  “We’ll have to wait and see if my plan goes accordingly.”

  “If it does?”

  “Then it depends how you’re feeling about me heeding the call.” He took a bottle from the chair by the bunk and squirted some liquid from it onto his palm. Held it for her to see. “Vitamin E?”

  She nodded. Turned away from him and slowly hiked her shirt up in back.

  “It’s looking better and better every day,” he said, enthusiastically. “Is it feeling any different … still tight?”

  “It’s tolerable. Doesn’t feel like a bear trap clamping down on my skin today.”

  He rubbed his hands together to warm the oil. Worked it into the thick scar tissue near her spine where the crawler had rent a chunk of flesh from her.

  “Oh ... shit, that smarts!” she exclaimed, as he worked the nutrients into the angry red nodule.

  “No pain—” Brook began.

  “No gain,” Raven finished, a soft blue glow now edging out the gloom above her bunk.

  “Limit your time on the computer,” said Cade. “You’ll ruin your eyes.”

  “With all that’s going on out there, Grayson,” Brook said, hiking her shirt back down. “And that’s the nit you’re choosing to pick?”

  Cade faced her and shook his head. He squirted a bead of oil on his index finger and worked it into the pink scars peppering her face. “Those bullet fragments sure did a number.”

  “Last I checked I wasn’t trying out for the Miss America Pageant. Besides ... better the fragments than the whole chunk of lead.”

  “Roger that,” Cade replied, nodding. “And to think there’ll never be another Miss—” Suddenly cutting off his thought, the radio in his pocket hissed and in his familiar syrupy drawl Duncan was imploring him to get the lead out.

  “Gonna answer him, Dad?”

  Cade shrugged and kissed Brook on the forehead. Then, looking her in the eye and with a vertical finger pressed to his lips, he rose up from the bunk, snuck over to the far side of Raven’s perch and grabbed the dainty foot dangling over the edge—a move that elicited a shriek and burst of laughter. He let go, poked his head above the bunk, and then blew her a kiss. “See you in a while, Bird.”

  “Dad,” she said.

  “Yes?” he answered.

  Raven said nothing. Instead, holding it by its nylon cord, she dangled the canister containing the last dose of Omega antiserum near his face.

  He reached up and took it from her. Turned it over in his hand once before rising and stepping up onto the bottom bunk. And though she was recoiling away playfully, he gently grabbed her wrist, pulled her near and coiled the cord into her open hand. Gazing into her eyes, he placed the canister in her palm and closed her fingers one at a time. “It’s yours and only yours.” He wrapped an arm around her neck and kissed the top of her head, noting to himself that she was sticking to her guns and no longer wearing her hair in pigtails. Too girly, she had said the day before. And par for the course lately, in solidarity with her mother, her brown locks were pulled up into a high ponytail that stuck out back of her ball cap like a mare’s tail.

  Saying nothing more lest he get all maudlin on his girls, Cade traded the ball cap for a black knit item, scooped up his carbine and coat, and ducked out the door.

  “When should we expect you back?” Brook called after.

  Poking his head back inside, he replied, “Before dark, hopefully.”

  She blew him a kiss and then he was gone, the heavy door clanging audibly in his wake.

  ***

  The sun was back behind the clouds when Cade exited the compound, so the Oakleys remained in his pocket. Halfway across the clearing, he saw that the truck bed was loaded down with more gear and people had already taken their places inside. To his amazement, though Taryn was arguably their most capable driver, she was sitting in the back seat between Wilson and Duncan. Seeing this display of humility, given her young age, had Cade marveling at how far she’d come since being plucked from the jaws of death on that body-strewn runway in Grand Junction. How in just a few short weeks she’d morphed from college student working a summer job as an airport barista to an orphaned but capable member of a small group trying to survive hell unleashed on humanity.

  As Cade neared the truck, he saw through the back window that Lev was riding bitch—as Cade’s fellow Delta operator Jorge Lopez was fond of saying—and, curiously enough, Jamie had gotten her wish and was riding shotgun, with her head leaning against the passenger window.

  So, left with no other seating option, Cade threw his carbine in the bed, snugged his hat low on his head, and climbed over the closed tailgate.

  Cade donned his glasses to ward off the slipstream to come, cleared a space for himself amidst all of the gear, and cast a quick glance at the side mirror, where he caught sight of Daymon flashing him a toothy grin. Knowing full well based on past experience what was coming next, Cade clamped a gloved hand firmly on the side of the box bed and worked his boots under Daymon’s overstuffed Kelty backpack. And he was right in doing so, for a tick later the engine revved and Daymon was reversing out into the clearing much faster than necessary, testing the 4-wheel drive no doubt. Suddenly the truck slewed and lurched to a stop—a move that quickly reorganized everything in the bed, Cade included. Through the sliding back window Cade saw a two-way radio in Duncan’s hands. Then the grizzled aviator craned back, met Cade’s gaze and mouthed: We’re waiting for Foley.

  ***

  A couple of minutes passed and then Cade detected the faint sounds of the approaching vehicle. A handful of seconds after that the white Dodge Ram burst from the narrow feeder road, looped around and parked in the vacated spot. And as Daymon wheeled the Chevy towards the road, Cade watched Tran and Foley exit the Dodge simultaneously. Then, before they were lost from view, he caught sight of Foley flashing him a thumbs up. Mission accomplished, thought Cade just as the heavens opened up anew and big fat flakes filled the air all around him.

  ***

  Less than a minute’s travel down the bumpy road, the truck came to an abrupt stop and Cade hopped out and opened the middle gate. He stood aside and let Daymon pull the truck through, then shut and locked the gate. Instead of immediately climbing aboard the idling truck, he hustled over to the tree with the security camera attached to it and inspected Foley’s handiwork. He watched big flakes settle on the newly installed lampshade and promptly slide from its steeply angled surface. Liking what he saw, he climbed back into the bed for the short ride to the hidden gate.

  Along the way, with the truck dancing to and fro about the rutted gravel road, he stared up through the narrow gap in the trees at the thinning band of blue demarking where the previous storm ended and the next began. And as he did so, near his feet, Wilson’s Louisville Slugger was doing a crazy dance on the truck’s bed. By his head someone’s pack was vibrating madly, loose rounds in a side pocket jangling away. To his left, making a racket of their own from impacting the metal bed was the spare battery and jumper cables. Adding to the cacophony that suddenly reminded him of a Big Easy one-man-band was a rattling chainsaw, fuel and oil for it, plus gas for the pair of SUVs awaiting them on the other side—the latter of which was sloshing around in a half dozen plastic cans.

  In no time the truck came to a smooth, rolling stop and there was silence. Cade hopped out and checked the main gate for Zs. Finding it all clear, he swung it open and watched the truck roll through.

  Chapter 16

  Once the Chevy was on 39 and pointing west, Cade closed the camouflaged gate and cast a cursory glance at the CCTV domes. Superintendent or not, Foley had come through again. The shroud above the domes seemed to add ample protection from the elements without adding much to the entire unit’s profile. Which set him at ease, because if a person didn’t know where he or she was looking, the likelihood of it being spotted from the road was slim to none. And those were the kind of odds Duncan was always
crowing about, so Cade figured they were the kind he could live with.

  Before boarding the truck, he removed a glove and dug the Motorola from his pocket. He called up Seth and asked him how the view was.

  “Crystal clear,” came the man’s reply.

  “Is the external audio mic working?”

  “I can’t hear you and you’re what … ten feet away?”

  “About,” Cade replied. “Can you hear the truck’s engine?”

  “Nope.”

  “One thing at a time, I guess,” Cade conceded. “Can’t expect Foley to work miracles considering the circumstances.”

  “Roger that,” Seth replied.

  “We’ll be switching over to the handheld CB soon. Make sure yours is powered on with fresh batteries.”

  “Copy that,” Seth called back. “And you guys all come back, ya hear. Stay frosty out there.”

  “Roger that,” Cade said. “No pun intended, right?”

  “I’m not that witty,” said Seth.

  Cade listened to the younger man’s laughter then heard him say Over and out like some kind of trucker and the connection finally went silent. He stood there for a three-count then pocketed the radio and crawled in the bed with his back against the cab. And as the truck pulled strongly to the west, his eyes were locked on the flowers up the hill and he realized how they were more than just an acknowledgement of the dead. That they were also more than just a device to pretty up the ground while simultaneously punctuating their passing and gaining some kind of closure in return. To him, at that moment, the flowers represented the vibrant and bright souls of the survivors he was glad to know and surround himself with. And, conversely, the stark white snow was the perfect metaphor for the cold cruel world closing in on them.

  ***

  At the intersection with 16, Dregan turned left, drove a short distance and parked a dozen yards south of the herd. He regarded the dead that had obviously been run over. Then he looked at the ones he had culled with the sword. Finally he wielded the binoculars and swept the head of the column. Though he couldn’t be a hundred percent certain, the monsters there looked to be just how he saw them last, albeit sporting a little more snow on their heads and shoulders where the standing ones were concerned.

  He saw a murder of crows strutting about the ground, hopping upon the fallen corpses, but largely staying away from their gaping maws.

  He exited the truck and slammed the door, causing the birds to take flight in an explosion of black feather and excited chatter. As he crunched forward, sword in hand, he watched a pair of pissed-off raptors alight on an upright corpse and their combined weight start a massive chain reaction. When all was said and done, the crows were again airborne and twenty or more of the semi-frozen monsters had clanked together and were settling on the roadway in various poses. Some reached skyward with gnarled fingers. Others had settled almost board flat, their mouths ajar and readily accepting the falling snow.

  Dregan approached one of the standing creatures, drew the Viking steel and slid the scabbard between his hip and belt. He stopped an arm’s reach from the biter, brought the sword over his head and held it there, two-handed. “Fuck you,” he muttered and delivered a vicious chopping blow that split the leering abomination vertically from skull to breastbone, where the sword stuck fast. He tugged once and the corpse remained upright and wavering, the sword wedged firmly. When all else fails, he thought. Put the boot to them. And he did, his size thirteen boot in front of an explosive kick to the stiffened flesh-eater’s chest sending it crashing to the road. One down, millions to go.

  Curious as to how the cold had affected its brain, Dregan moved around to its head and probed the gray matter with the sword’s tip. Expecting to find the outer lobes frozen solid, the opposite was true. Like the inner core—cerebral cortex is what he thought it was called—the outer matter was moist and soft and he hadn’t a clue why. A light jab from the sword’s tip to one eyeball was met with much resistance. Upon further probing he found that it was beginning to freeze.

  Having seen enough to confuse him completely, Dregan returned to his vehicle, tossed the sword on the passenger seat, and climbed behind the wheel. A tick later, after performing a tight U-turn, he was motoring south with the soothing sounds of Bach and thrum of rolling tires serenading him.

  ***

  At that very moment, sixteen miles to the west as the crow flies, Cade was clambering out of the Chevy with his fully loaded ruck on and the suppressed M4 in hand. He checked that the spare magazines for his carbine were snugged securely into their slots on his chest rig then zipped his parka up around his bearded chin and watched the others gear up and assemble.

  Daymon shrugged on his battered Kelty, which was bulging in odd places because the bulky car battery and jumper cables were now shoehorned inside along with the rest of his gear. He wore Kindness, his aptly named machete, strapped to his right leg. The stubby shotgun Duncan had bequeathed him weeks ago was dangling off his left shoulder by a short nylon strap. And as if he wasn’t already loaded down enough, the lanky former BLM firefighter snatched the Stihl chainsaw off the truck’s open tailgate and manhandled it over his shoulder, where he balanced it horizontally and held it there with one gloved hand gripping the business end of the flat guide bar.

  “Got the kitchen sink anywhere on your person?”

  “No, Cade. I left that at the compound,” Daymon shot back. “I’ve got a Snickers bar in here somewhere, though. Carry the saw and you can have it.”

  “I like ‘em,” Cade replied. “But not that much. And thanks—”

  One-handed, Daymon snugged the Kelty’s waist belt tight. Finished, he looked at Cade and said, “Thanks for what?”

  Cade reached into his jacket pocket and came out with something in hand. He unwrapped it slowly and when he was finished, displayed the faded brown wrapper with its easily identifiable logo facing Daymon and took a big bite, chewed slowly and swallowed. “For reminding me this was in my pocket. That’s what,” he said through chocolate-stained teeth. “It’s been in there for weeks.”

  Sitting a dozen feet away and loaded down with a pack and shotgun of his own, Duncan called, “Holding out on us, huh Cade?”

  Cade said nothing. He just finished off the candy bar and stuffed the wrapper in a pocket.

  “Let’s go,” said Wilson, impatience evident in his voice. His Todd Helton was perched on one shoulder and he was standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Taryn, their matching Beretta pistols on opposing hips and nearly touching.

  Meanwhile, back at the truck, Lev and Jamie had just finished splitting up the group’s food and had stowed it in their matching desert-tan soft packs.

  Daymon and Duncan were already on the other side of the roadside ditch and passing the time ribbing each other. Cade interrupted the grab-assing and said, “Felix. Oscar. Why don’t you two go ahead. We’ll catch up with you.”

  Duncan flipped Cade the bird but there was no questioning the request. Daymon turned and melted into the forest. Duncan shrugged and smiled and then followed the boot prints in the snow.

  Daymon pushed through knee-high ferns and ankle-grabbing undergrowth and when he finally emerged from the first layer of forest, he halted and leaned against a freshly cut stump to wait for the others.

  Meanwhile, back on the road, Cade was telling the others to go on ahead of him.

  “You sure?” asked Jamie.

  “Positive. I want to hang back and cover up our tracks.”

  Seeing the wisdom in that, Wilson said, “Need a hand?”

  “I got it.”

  “You can’t carry our water forever,” Wilson said.

  “No, I can’t. Nor do I intend on doing so.” Then, without realizing he was regurgitating a line favored by his late mentor, Mike Desantos, Cade added, “This isn’t my first rodeo, Wilson. You all can go ahead and catch up with Frick and Frack. I’ll bring up the rear.”

  There was a moment of indecision on Wilson’s part. As big flakes fell silently
on the cedars and firs blocking the road, the redhead went quiet and stood staring at Cade while a fair amount collected on his floppy boonie hat.

  Cade pointed to the break in the forest, in the general direction the sounds of breaking branches was coming from. “Go,” he said, in a firm fatherly tone.

  Holding their matching AR-style carbines at a low ready, both Jamie and Lev nodded and without a word entered the forest.

  Cade made a shooing motion that finally got Wilson and Taryn to follow after the others. He waited until they were out of sight then moved off the road and crouched down among a drooping clutch of ferns, his suppressed Glock locked and loaded.

  ***

  After remaining still for a handful of minutes with his collar covering his mouth to keep evidence of his breathing from giving him away, he concluded they were all alone. He stood and brushed the accumulated snow from his hat and shoulders. Then he looped around the truck, locked the doors and stowed the key in his back pocket. Reaching across the hood, he hinged both wipers up and away from the windshield—an old trick to keep them from freezing to the windshield he’d learned back in his skiing days. Then, just to set himself at ease, he searched for a suitable fallen limb with a fair amount of branches and needles. Knocked the snow from the five-foot item to lighten it up some and walked a zig-zag pattern backwards from the Chevy to the spot on the shoulder where the others had entered, sweeping the branch back and forth the entire way in order to cover their tracks.

  Chapter 17

  Bach’s concerto finished and the next track on the CD Lena had burned for Dregan the day before her wedding began playing. It was a pop number from a band she adored. Some young guys calling themselves Marooned Five. He shook his head, thinking the group should’ve dispatched with the mysterious and just gone ahead and called themselves The Gilligan’s Island Five. Or Tom Hanks and the Castaways. Maybe even some funny play on Lord of the Flies. If anything, at least the latter would appeal to the British teenagers. Then, just as quickly as the inane train of thought entered his mind, he forgot about the band and his mind drifted to Lena.