Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse (Book 9): Frayed

by Chesser, Shawn

  Duncan shifted his aim by a few degrees right, the bipod feet flaking orange paint off the porch rail in the process. Whistled. “Kid is good.”

  “That’s a peace sign if I ever saw one,” Cade said. “And to punch that tight of a group at three, maybe four hundred yards … on a down angle with a slight right to left tail wind ...” He nodded and made a clucking sound.

  Duncan looked up briefly. “You’re leaving out one thing, Delta. Nobody was shooting at him.”

  “That was coming and he knew it. Still, he acted instead of ran,” Cade replied, his voice hushed. “Bravery is one of those intangible things that can’t be taught.”

  “Nor true discretion,” said Duncan. He looked over his shoulder, past Cade, and saw that Oliver hadn’t moved. So he looked to the fore and aimed the rifle a little left and focused on the beach and boat ramp beyond the cemetery. In the gathering dark, he could just make out the legions of inert dead gathered there. Though less than half the numbers of the horde still clogging Trapper’s Loop Road a few hundred yards due south of there, they would still have to be dealt with while the conditions still favored the living.

  Cade strode inside.

  Oliver looked up. His eyes were red, but dry. “I’ll pull it together,” he said, sitting up straight. “I’ve been stuffing these emotions for going on … what seems like forever.”

  “It’s been a crazy couple of months, that’s for sure,” Cade conceded. “It’s gonna get far worse before it gets better, I’m afraid.”

  The sound of the SUVs pulling up out front filtered in through the open doors. Then, near simultaneously, the engines went quiet. Duncan closed the French doors against the cold and the sounds of doors opening and closing. He propped the rifle in the corner beside a lamp with a stained-glass-style shade. On a table next to it were a dozen differently colored candles. Rising vertically from a hardened lake of wax, each burned down to a different height, they resembled a metropolis’s jagged skyline.

  There was a knock on the back door.

  Duncan crossed the room, but paused in front of Oliver. They locked eyes. “That was some good shooting. Your dad would’ve been proud of how you handled the situation.” For the first time in a long time, Oliver smiled. For one, he was happy a reunion with his mom was in the near future. Secondly, he was kind of proud of himself for checking his fire the way he had. Like the butterfly effect, had he not, he probably never would have heard those three words: She’s safe, though.

  Such sweet words, indeed.

  Chapter 55

  Amazingly, Daymon was no longer heated when he got to Glenda’s house and finished battling the driveway’s slick surface. And during the long slow walk from the Land Cruiser to the back door, Lev was explaining to Daymon why his buttons were pushed. The realization that the shooter was merely trying to run them off helped to cool him down. Then the disclosure of the shooter’s identity washed away any residual anger. However, before joining the others upstairs, the two conspired to prank Wilson, who was the conduit between Cade’s order and the disparaging words that led to one hell of a brilliant diversion.

  Using the low murmur of conversation as a beacon, Lev and Daymon transited the kitchen and found the staircase leading up. Stifling a laugh, Lev pointed to Daymon and said, “He’s already upstairs. Mean mug activate.”

  Instantly Daymon’s face made a complete one-eighty, going from his usual placid affect to the mask of rage it was the second Wilson had called him an adopted dumpster baby.

  “Perfect,” said Lev. “Now ball up your fists.”

  Daymon stuffed his stocking cap in a pocket and shook out his dreadlocks. “I have a better idea.” He started up the stairs, slowly, stomping his lug soled boots on each tread. He paused mid-run and out came Kindness. “Where’s that ginger-haired skinny-ass good for nothing waste of skin!” he bellowed. He continued muttering about perceived slights and then paused on the fourth stair from the top. With the flickering light from the candles adding a rather sinister effect to his scowling face, he looked over his shoulder and shot Lev a conspiratorial wink.

  Upstairs, Wilson was sitting on the chair by the vanity with Taryn taking up space on the floor between his legs. Duncan, Oliver, and Jamie were sitting on the floor nearby, facing one another, and engaged in conversation.

  Out of those congregated in the master bedroom, Cade was the farthest from the top of the stairs, near the French doors and looking out over the town and reservoir. Upon hearing Daymon’s booming voice, he turned and double-timed it across the room. The limp was more pronounced now as he picked his way through the gear and guns strewn about the floor. With all eyes glued to him, he took up station between Wilson and the top of the stairs. “What did you say to piss D off?” he whispered.

  Wilson cupped a hand near his mouth and beckoned for Cade to come closer.

  Grimacing from shifting his weight to the bad ankle too quickly, Cade hinged at the waist and lent an ear. He stayed like that for a handful of seconds as the sound of Daymon’s grousing and footsteps drew nearer. Then, just when Wilson was finished whispering into his ear, Cade heard the footfalls stop. Right behind him. He could almost feel Daymon’s breath on the back of his neck. So he rose up, turned slowly and found Daymon one stair from the top, which, considering the height difference, put the two men nearly eye-to-eye. Cade recoiled when he saw the swollen eye up close. He could also smell the man’s breath and it was no kind of pleasant. And strangely, behind Daymon, in the gloom of the landing below, Lev was gesticulating with his arms. Cade squinted hard, focusing on Lev’s mouth moving, and read his lips: Daymon is not mad. Practical joke. Lev mouthed it three times and Cade finally figured out they were messing with Wilson for something he’d initiated. And he was fine with that. The less drama, the better.

  Cade nodded to Lev. Then he winked at Daymon. Left eye, so Wilson wouldn’t catch on.

  Suppressing smiles, Cade and Daymon stood there, eyes locked and exchanging put-on and wildly exaggerated angry glares like a couple of boxers at a weigh in.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Cade saw movement. He broke eye contact with Daymon just long enough to flick his gaze right to see Wilson backing away from the impending confrontation.

  “Move, motherfucker,” Daymon said.

  “If you’re going after Wilson … then you’re going through me,” Cade shot back.

  Ten seconds had passed since the stare-down began. Lev was on the landing below, a huge grin on his face, holding his sides and craning to see what was going on.

  A dozen feet away from the standoff, Duncan was up and already angling to intervene.

  Taryn was also standing now, her hands curled into fists and coming up defensively. She had a smoldering glare fixed on Daymon.

  Oliver remained seated. He had no dog in this fight and wished he hadn’t been part and parcel to the drama that preceded it. He thought about slinking around the stairwell rail and going down behind the faceoff. In fact, at the moment he wanted to be back on the Pacific Crest Trail away from any and all humans. Surviving was much easier when he only had himself to worry about. As soon as the initial thought of bolting diminished, he got a sick feeling in his gut and wondered just how his mom was faring after spending three weeks with this group of crazies. And just when the tension in the room seemed to have reached critical mass and he thought all hell was about to break loose, the bearded guy named Cade, and the dreadlocked guy he’d heard someone refer to as Daymon, turned toward Wilson and blurted: “Gotcha!”

  Wilson flopped over onto his back like a turtle and lay there, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Thought I was a frickin dead man,” he said, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

  Taryn jabbed a finger at Daymon. “You, motherfucker, were almost a dead man,” she said, a little wild-eyed. No sooner had she said the words than her face broke into a half-smile.

  Daymon peered around her. “Dumpster baby? Really?”

  A sheepish look fell on Wilson’s face. “They were your own wo
rds.”

  “Tell some momma jokes. Make fun of my hair like Old Man does. Call me Urch.” He wagged his head side-to-side. The dreads kept pace, the handful of longer ones whipping his neck. “All of those things get my goat. Sometimes they even piss me off … when I let them. But don’t bring up that sore subject ever again? Last guy who did … a ski patrol cat full of Rumple Minze and attitude. He got a broken nose courtesy of my thick forehead.”

  “Cade said we needed a diversion. He told me to piss you off. I figured …”

  Cade nodded. “He speaks the truth.”

  “I figure I still owe Cade for all the crazy shit he’s done for us up to now. I’ll let it slide. You’re both forgiven. Ends to a means and all that.” Like a switch was flipped, Daymon went quiet. His eyes were fixed on something across the room. He stepped up and crabbed past Cade. “Who’s this dude? And what’s that I see on his head … does that say Powder Mountain on there? I’ve always wanted to ski that hill and never got around to it. Park City, yes. Grand Targhee, yes. Solitude, ditto. All over the Grand Tetons … resort and backcountry galore.” His eyes were glazing over just talking about it. He went on, “But never Pow-Pow Mountain. We gotta talk, my man.” He slid Kindness into her sheath and crossed the room eyes, locked on Oliver as if they were the only two people left on earth.

  Chapter 56

  In the end, the pretend fisticuffs, though disconcerting at first, served to break the emotional dam that had been building within the group for weeks. Though Cade hadn’t seen this coming anytime soon, it seemed as if Daymon was slowly returning to his old self—the fella he’d reunited with back in Jackson Hole before that city finally fell to the dead. The metamorphosis that Cade was witness to began with the apology following the snowball fight that actual did lead to a couple of landed blows. And now, hours later, Daymon was acting like an adult—playing nice with others—even after having just been used as a pawn.

  Cade grinned inwardly, recalling the look on Wilson’s face. Sheer unadulterated terror. He was also amazed the scrawny redhead hadn’t drawn his pistol to even the odds. It’s what he would have done. No doubt about it.

  He was witnessing growing pains every thrown-together group experienced. A pecking order was being established. Flaws and strengths were being exposed and cultivated, respectively.

  “Time to punch the clock,” said Cade. He tipped his head back and funneled the crumbled remains of a granola bar into his mouth. Crumpled the foil wrapper and stowed it away in a pocket for use later, in the garden Tran had planned to plant come spring. Keeps the birds away, the usually quiet man had said after posing the strange request for anything shiny, foil or otherwise.

  Taryn and Jamie were already zipping their coats and donning hats. Weapons were passed around. Boots were laced up tight. Flashlights were checked and spare batteries transferred from backpacks to pockets.

  “Hand warmers? Duncan said. Several hands shot up. He passed a couple of the little squares to each person. “Daymon? Oliver?”

  “I’m good,” said Daymon.

  “My pack is full of them,” said Oliver. “Raided a ski shop in Eden. Mostly just the vacation homes burned. A lot of the town close in survived the fire.”

  “The rotters?” asked Duncan.

  Shaking his head, Oliver said, “Most of them were burned beyond recognition. I figure like the ones packed in by the water here, the burning subdivisions north and east of downtown Eden literally drew the roamers in like moths to a flame.”

  Duncan slung his pump gun over his shoulder and creakily rose from the floor. “Did you see any breathers?” he asked.

  Again Oliver shook his head. “Not a one. Didn’t even feel any eyes on me … except for the dead’s.”

  There was a chorus of boots clomping down the stairs as the room emptied.

  Duncan followed after the others and paused at the top of the stairs next to Cade. “You coming, Daymon?”

  “Go on ahead without me. Oliver was just about to tell me about all of the dead he culled over in Eden.”

  “So that’s a no?”

  “I figure I’ll roam around the Huntsville outskirts and let Kindness eat.”

  “Suit yourself,” said Duncan as he started down the stairs. “Take a radio if you two head out. And don’t forget about the critter in the Shell station.”

  “I’ll keep my guard up, Dad.”

  Oliver snickered.

  Before descending the stairs, Cade zipped his jacket up and arranged the collar to accommodate his beard. He shrugged on his pack and checked the mags in the pouches on his chest. Satisfied he was good to go, he slung his M4 and shot Daymon a look that the other man could interpret only one way: Don’t make us come looking for you.

  ***

  Twenty minutes after leaving Glenda’s house and the deathly quiet town of Huntsville in the rearview, Duncan slowed the Land Cruiser at the end of the long and familiar winding drive and let Cade out.

  The snow on the ground here felt different under his boots when he stepped onto the roadway. It no longer had that squeak of powdery crystals being compacted together under his hundred-and-eighty pounds. It kind of reminded him of the wet snow that often fell on Mount Hood. Known to the locals as Cascade Concrete, it had a tendency to grab and pull on the bases of all but the more recently waxed skis and snowboards.

  He could still see his breath coming out white as he walked, and he noted the air here offered less of a sting to his lungs. The night sky was inky black and he couldn’t see his hand at arm’s length when the rig’s dome light snapped off. Working in the cone of light thrown by the SUV’s headlights, he removed the length of chain and pushed the gate to the UDOT yard aside. Eschewing the warmth of the truck, he switched on the tactical light affixed to his M4 and waved Duncan forward, then closed them and the Land Cruiser inside with the heavy equipment and piles of gravel.

  With the bouncing white beam preceding him, he hustled on foot to the trailer where the keys to the vehicles were kept. He turned the knob and nudged the door open with the suppressor. Carbine tucked tight to his shoulder, he swept the room first then found the keys. Thirty seconds after entering the darkened pre-fab trailer, he was climbing into the SUV’s passenger seat with not one, but the entire assortment of keys that had been hanging on pins pressed into the corkboard inside.

  Cade had Duncan shuttle him to one of the Mack Granite trucks already fitted with a plow. Only this plow wasn’t the type that shot the snow off to the right like the rigs they’d left shoring up the roadblock. This monster was fitted with a bi-directional plow more than twice the size of the others. Rising from the ground to just above the top of the hood in an aggressive upswept arc, both halves dove down and met in the middle, creating a sharp vertical leading edge. A student of military history, Cade’s first impression was that the truck had been fitted with a mine-clearing device. However, this shiny item up front was good for clearing a road of snow in one high-speed pass—not deadly high explosives at a crawl.

  Chapter 57

  Approaching the turn-off to Trapper’s Loop Road, Cade’s attention was drawn to the boat ramp and day use area up ahead and off to his right. There were flashlight beams bouncing and swinging back and forth. Occasionally a single shaft of light would illuminate one of the many nylon tents and make it glow like a grounded Chinese funeral lantern. Unlike the cemetery where everyone split up, the stabbing bars of white light were clustered together and seemed to be moving left-to-right, near the shore, the beams flaring brilliantly every time they hit the water’s surface. That the group was quite a distance removed from the parking lot where they said they would leave the 4Runner suggested to Cade that Jamie, Taryn, Lev, and Wilson had wasted no time getting underway and their late night culling session was moving ahead nicely.

  He flicked his gaze to the tracked-up surface of 39, eased off the pedal, and let the Mack’s transmission gearing down do the job of slowing the lumbering vehicle. At the T-junction he made a wide arcing left turn, and in
the rearview saw the Land Cruiser’s headlights sweep through the snow churned up by the eight massive tires on the double axle out back. Half a beat later, the plow’s lights revealed a scene yanked right out of Cade’s worst nightmare. Though he’d already seen the immobilized mass of Zs in their entirety in full daylight, that was nothing like seeing them suddenly snap from the dark like some kind of ambush rising straight out of hell.

  The dead were stalled out heading south, so thankfully Cade was spared falling under the hungry gaze of a thousand pairs of staring, lifeless eyes. Throwing a hard shudder at the prospect of getting caught in this kind of a jam with the mercury north of thirty-two, he pulled the plow truck hard to the side of the road and shut the rig down. Leaving headlights burning, he lowered himself to the ground and shut the door just as the Land Cruiser rolled up and parked beside the plow truck.

  Since the hostile takeover of Glenda’s house, the wind had died to nothing. Still, as Cade stood on the lonely stretch of two-lane with his breath coming out in ever lessening detail, he felt a subtle vibration coming from the gathered dead. It wasn’t physical. It was almost the same sensation he had gotten earlier when he was being watched. Only this was more ethereal, like a premonition he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

  Still lit up by the quad shafts thrown out by the trucks, the horde remained rooted. There was not so much as an eye twitch to confirm they were actually still undead.

  The Land Cruiser’s engine shut off and the driver’s door slammed somewhere off Cade’s left shoulder. Still he continued to stare. Where to start? Front or back?

  Duncan’s footfalls drew near. Gone was the initial crunch of boot soles plunging through the frozen veneer. As was the soft squeak and squelch of the powder-like snow under the mantle being compacted. Hearing this dispelled Cade’s hunch that the lower elevation of the UDOT depot was responsible for similar conditions there. Given that and the fact that the road here was slowly rising from the level of the Pineville reservoir, there was only one explanation for the changing conditions. The temperature was climbing. He glanced at his Suunto and saw that the barometer rendered in the LCD display was flatlined, meaning it was probably going to get warmer from here on out.