The End Time Saga (Book 2): The Breaking

by Daniel Greene

  “Don’t put a fucking hole through the gas tank, you dumb ass. Your tomahawk’s underneath the driver’s seat,” Ashley piped up. She managed to look disinterested and annoyed at the same time. The blonde hadn’t said anything to them since their departure from the moonshiner camp. She gestured to it with a flip of her wrist. “Casey hid some shit under there.”

  Steele walked to the front, using the handrails like playground monkey bars. He crouched down and patted his hand underneath the seat until he wrapped his fingers around the handle. He held up his old tactical tomahawk; the foot-long handle was topped off with a three-inch wedge-shaped blade with a spike on the other side. He spun it around in a circle, flipping it over his hand and catching it by the handle.

  “Let’s see what the hawk can do. Eddie, pull those chains tight.”

  Eddie knelt down on the floor. He spread his wrists wide, pulling the chain taut. “Don’t miss,” he said, eying Steele warily.

  Steele crouched down. “I won’t, buddy, but better turn your head to the side.”

  Eddie’s eyes went wide. “Oh hell, no.”

  “Mauser, stop this thing.”

  “You got it.” The mover rolled to a stop, causing Steele to take a step back. He regained his balance and lined up his tomahawk with Eddie’s chains. He took a few practice swings to get down his spacing and timing, then cocked his arm back behind his head. His knuckles turned white as he gripped his tomahawk hard. He gritted his teeth and slammed the tomahawk home. Sparks flew from the chain and the hawk bounced upward.

  Eddie eyed his chains fearfully; they were still intact. “You didn’t get it.”

  Steele licked his lips. “Couple more swings.” He swung the light hand axe forcefully over and over against the chains. A link in the middle began to split.

  “You’re gettin’ it,” Eddie yelled, but Steele ignored him, totally immersed in his task. He hammered it again, letting the fire rise up inside of him. Rage bubbled up from his interior, from the lower depths of his soul. A rage that he didn’t know existed. A dark part of his soul. The rage drove him. Rage against the infected. Rage against Puck. Rage against his new life. He beat the chains, fury enveloping him. Sweat poured from his face. Eddie would be free.

  When he stopped, he found himself yelling. Incoherent words screamed from his mouth. His voice dropped off, the sound emitting from his gut disappearing. The rage slunk away back inside him, a retreating snake into its hole.

  He held the tomahawk up at eye level. The head was chipped and dented from its war against the chains. He would have to sharpen the blade again. The eyes of his people stared at him.

  His chest heaved.

  “I’m …” he started. The words hung in the air.

  Eddie slowly stood upright, his arms hanging at his sides. His arms were free of constraint, his unjust bondage rectified. Eddie nodded to Steele.

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me for doing the right thing. We should have gotten you out of those sooner.”

  He sat back down on the mover bench and tossed his tomahawk on the seat cushion. He ran a hand through his hair, gingerly skirting the wound. Everyone still watched him, frozen motionless in the large cabin of the people mover.

  “What?” he asked.

  Mauser turned back around in his driver’s chair. The others took their seats as the mover revved up again.

  “Somebody find me a place to crash for the night.” Steele put his head in his hands again embracing the pain.

  KINNICK

  Northern Virginia

  At a hundred and forty miles per hour, the helicopters made quick work of the scourged landscape, and twenty minutes later Kinnick’s teams circled the Mount Eden Federal Emergency Operations Facility.

  Kinnick gazed down at the harsh scene below. Tents were trampled and ripped into pieces of material. Trucks were tipped over on their sides. Bodies lay in the roads. No signs of life remained, although there were plenty of signs that the infected had made their way through. The helicopters continued to circle, indecisive predators hunting for prey. They searched for anything that indicated the doctor was there.

  “Our quick intel brief stated there’s a base underground,” Master Sergeant Hunter called over the thump-thump of the rotors.

  “That’s correct. We haven’t heard from them in days,” Kinnick yelled back. Master Sergeant Hunter nodded, eying the destruction below.

  What a bag of dicks. Odds were no one was alive. Especially not the doctor. Odds were hundreds if not thousands of infected resided in the area. The helicopters would probably draw the bastards in. The whirling of the rotors may as well have been a dinner bell for the living dead. They didn’t have the time nor the fuel to waste flying around aimlessly.

  Kinnick tapped the pilot on the shoulder. “Put down over there in that field. Next to that building.” A long grass field lay trampled by thousands of feet. Fewer dismembered corpses lay there, motionless.

  “Master Sergeant Hunter, the entrance to the underground facility is there. I want Bowie with me, and Crockett to cover the helos while they refuel. Better to keep these birds well fed.”

  Master Sergeant Hunter was a career operator; he wasted no time barking out orders to his men.

  “Lewis, Esparza, Bowman, Fannin, Pollard, and Turmelle, you are with me and the colonel,” Master Sergeant Hunter said. “I want Gibson and Hawkins along with the rest of Crockett’s crew pulling perimeter security. You see any Zulus, try and take them quietly.”

  They all listened. They’d all been through shit before the breaking of the East Coast.

  The helicopters descended and shook as they touched down. All of his fighters bounded out to their designated sectors like they had done it one hundred times, if not a step slower than they used to. Kick off the rust.

  Kinnick hopped out and followed close behind Sergeant Lewis’s broad back; Lewis had taken point in their small squad carrying his M249 SAW, which he could use to put down some serious suppressive firepower. Kinnick only had brief visuals around the man but didn’t know if he wanted even to see that.

  Raggedly torn-up bodies lay strewn in half-eaten poses. The grass turned black with guts spilt on the ground. Dead lifeless eyes stared at them accusingly. Why didn’t you save us?

  Kinnick tried to put it out of his mind, but it stung. “The American government failed us,” they said, glaring at them with lifeless features. His family must lie somewhere in a similar fate. Murdered by their neighbors, torn apart with hands that once shook theirs in friendship.

  I must compartmentalize what is happening everywhere and move forward to the task at hand. Find the doctor. Nothing else means much. America would still have fallen no matter what actions I took.

  They moved at a quick jog, each man scanning their sector for threats. Their guns pointed at different angles, ensuring good coverage of potential threats. They made fast approach on a seemingly nondescript three-story office building. Red bricks stacked with white mortar covered the exterior with evenly spaced windows.

  A hairy bear paw halted the squad, bringing them silently to a stop. Kinnick crouched his way next to Sergeant Lewis.

  “We got a woman over there, front of the building. Doors look blown apart. Windows are broken on the top floor,” Sergeant Lewis said. The charred remains of a white door were strewn over the grass and sidewalk.

  A haggard-looking woman leaned against the wall, medical gown untied and flapping softly in the breeze. The gown drifted open slightly, revealing clotted wounds that covered her legs. A regular person would have pushed the gown down, but she let the gown ripple and crinkle exposing her back.

  From their position they had some concealment, but Kinnick wanted to go in quiet. They were only eight. They couldn’t risk drawing the attention of hundreds if not thousands of the infected.

  “Do it quiet,” Kinnick directed. He gave a nod at Turmelle, leaving Lewis to overwatch his comrade. The large curly black-haired Beret grinned as he drew his bent Gurkha
kukri. He gave it a spin in his fingers as he anticipated his “work.” The heavy blade finished its rotation in an overhand grip.

  The soldier moved with stealth at a low crouch. He disappeared and in a moment rose up behind the woman like a specter. Grabbing her by the hair, he thrust his kukri through her neck and cut outward, cleanly disabling the woman. The kukri blurred as he held her head in his hands, and then her body dropped to the ground. Kinnick had the feeling that he had had too much practice with the famous Gurkha blade.

  The men silently stacked up behind Lewis. They hugged the side of the building. The men squeezed one another’s shoulders up the stack. One man passed over the threshold crossing the doorway. The next man button-hooked. Kinnick crossed the doorway inside. Welcome to Hell, was all that crossed his mind before the dead swarmed for his squad.

  STEELE

  Hills of West Virginia

  “I see the Philippi Scenic Overpass, here,” Ahmed said. He held a folding paper map in his hands. Steele gave him a look of loathing. He wanted to ignore Ahmed as if he didn’t exist. The airport mobile lounge continued to roll onward, disregarding its occupants’ internal strife. The Lunchbox didn’t care if the PB&J got squashed by the apple as long as it carried its contents to their destination.

  “Anybody else?” Steele said. He eyed his other companions. Ahmed’s face held a heavy purple hue from the beating the moonshiners had put on him. It gave Steele only a fraction of the joy it should have knowing that the beatings came from the moonshiners.

  “It’s only about fifteen miles,” Ahmed said.

  Will this man never go away? “Let me see,” Steele said. He snatched the map from Ahmed’s hands. Contour lines circled green mountains with gray roadways running through them.

  “We are about here,” Ahmed said. He placed his finger on the map.

  Steele’s eyes narrowed.

  Ahmed’s finger hovered over a scenic overpass labeled by a picnic table.

  “I know where we are,” Steele said. Kind of. He perused the map. The closest area nearby that may have any scavenge value was the Philippi Scenic Overpass. There would be restrooms; perhaps a park visitor center. A likely stopping point and it might hold needed supplies.

  With potential supplies came other risks. Fights were possible with any number of thieves, ambushers, bandits, and the infected. We don’t have enough bullets for any kind of fight.

  It was clear that the Philippi Overpass was the best place for them to stop, but since Ahmed had suggested it, Steele had to veto the idea.

  “No. We’ll go here.” He jabbed a finger onto the map. “Verlander Lake State Park. It’s only thirty miles.” Steele eyed Ahmed a bit, looking for a challenge. He stretched his neck and made himself bigger in case Ahmed got any ideas. His neck had never felt right since he had a close encounter with a bullet.

  “It will be dark by the time we get there,” Ahmed said.

  “Not if Mauser speeds this thing up,” Steele said. He shook Mauser’s shoulder. “Come on, man. Get this thing going.”

  “I am taking it as fast as we can safely, and I’m with Ahmed. We should camp while we still got light.”

  “Now you want to take it slow?” Steele jabbed. He threw his arms up at the unfairness. Steele recalled the numerous times Mauser had driven the lounge through packs of the infected at high speeds.

  “It’s probably better if we stop at the overpass,” Gwen said. Her eyes pleaded with him a bit as if she didn’t want to do this.

  Steele saved a special glare for her. Jesus, you too? He knew Ahmed was right, but he hated to see him win.

  Kevin looked up excitedly. “I’ve been there before. I think there are some cabins by the lake. If I am not mistaken, a Civil War battle took place. More of a skirmish really, but the first organized land battle of the war. The Northern Press loved it, referring to it as the Philippi Races because of how fast the Confederates retreated.”

  Steele gave him a side glance. “I don’t need a fucking history lesson everywhere we go.” He rubbed his temples, his headache draping over him like a blanket of nails. Goddamn Ahmed. “Anyone have anything else they want to share?”

  The people in the lounge stared at him. Scared eyes looked to him to make every decision no matter how great or how small. Lucia. Eddie. And Ashley.

  “Fine. Take us there.”

  Ahmed and Gwen smiled at him.

  He leaned back, closing his eyes and praying the pounding in his skull would lessen even just a bit.

  “Wake me up when we get there,” he mumbled.

  An hour later, Steele sat inside a small cabin on the edge of a pristine lake. Cool dark mountain water was untouched by the plague that had swept the land atop a pale horse. Everyone slept except for Mauser and him.

  “Before I forget. I grabbed this off Fat Chuck’s stinking corpse while we ran to the mobile lounge.” Mauser tossed Steele his tactical badge.

  Steele caught the badge and held it in his hand, feeling the nice weight of the metallic shield.

  “Didn’t think I would see this again.” He gave Mauser a sidelong smile, running his finger over the eagle imprint.

  Mauser shrugged. “Don’t want you gettin’ written up for something stupid like lost equipment.”

  “I definitely wouldn’t want that on my record,” Steele joked. The Division had a strict policy when it came to equipment. Not that he thought they would come knocking anytime soon. He slipped the chain over his neck, tucking the badge beneath his shirt. It was a fake gold-plated reminder of his responsibilities to the public regardless of the current state of world affairs.

  “What happened to Joseph?” Steele asked.

  “I don’t know. When the shooting started, he disappeared. The hillbillies didn’t have him.”

  “What if he was telling the truth? You know, about that dude in Grand Haven. Patient Zero.”

  “Well yeah. He was really smart. Why would he lie?”

  Steele shook his head. “I’m not sure. I guess it doesn’t matter now.”

  “You don’t think he escaped? You did.” Mauser said. His eyes betrayed how he really felt.

  “I’m a slightly different case. But do you really think a CDC doctor with no practical skills aside from medicine survived a shootout, the undead, and the mountain terrain by himself?”

  “Well, yeah, we didn’t find a body.” Mauser scratched at his head.

  I wonder how many bodies have been picked clean since this began.

  “If he wasn’t with you, he’s dead. That guy couldn’t even wipe his own ass without help.” And now this is just a survival situation for us. No mission to bring Joseph to Michigan.

  “He could have hid or something,” Mauser offered.

  “I doubt it. We could still head to Michigan. See if my family is there.” Steele rubbed his hands together.

  “We can take this old Lunchbox anywhere,” Mauser said with a smile.

  “They really shot her up good.”

  Mauser frowned. “She’s missing a few bits and pieces, but she’ll get us where we need to go. She’s got character, my friend. She earned those battle scars.”

  “I think we’ve earned those scars,” Steele said.

  “Even that guy over there,” Mauser said. He nodded across the room.

  Steele looked over to where Mauser gestured to a sleeping form.

  “Ahmed?”

  “Yeah. Those hillbillies worked him over pretty good every day and he didn’t quit.”

  “You know we have bad blood between us.” Steele clenched his jaw. Bad blood was the short of it.

  “I know you do, but what I am saying is that him and I don’t have bad blood between us. He’s not as bad as he seems.”

  “You didn’t have a three-hundred-pound woman in a muumuu trying to rip your face off while he stood by and watched,” Steele said.

  “If he didn’t pull those dead off me, I would have died. Without him, Gwen would have died at the metro. He’s a part of our group.” Mauser s
hifted.

  Steele sat there and contemplated. Then he said, “This whole thing is about trust. Trust is built with every small moment you are vulnerable and the other person doesn’t take the advantage. Trust is built brick by brick, and can be wrecking-balled in an instant. I will try, but he’s got a long road ahead of him. It will never be the same as I trust you.”

  Mauser half-smiled, forcing his black eye and puffy cheek to crease. “Ow.” He rose a battered hand to his cheek. “Well I’d hope not. We’ve been through some heavy shit together, and it doesn’t look like that’s going to change. Let’s try and keep that ugly melon of yours in one piece, alright?”

  Steele smiled, carefully running a hand over the top of his skull. “Cut it a little too close, didn’t we. Next time, I’ll ask for a trim.”

  Mauser laughed outright, and Gwen rolled over. Steele put an index finger to his lips. “Don’t wake the beast. You remember what it was like when we all lived together?” Steele whispered.

  “You’ll probably get blamed for it either way,” Mauser said, surprisingly quiet. He knew better than to mess with Gwen while she slept. Mauser’s head sank down to his chest as he held in his laughter.

  “We’re not in too bad of shape, are we?” Mauser said.

  “No. We could be lying face down in a ditch somewhere.”

  “And the gang is back together,” Mauser said.

  Everyone except Jarl, Wheeler, and Andrea. My entire team is dead. “When I woke up, the thought of being out there alone was pretty scary.”

  “Nope. You’re stuck with us. Not that it matters now, but I was thinking of moving out in the fall. Let you and Gwen live alone.”

  “You were going to move out on us?” Steele joked. None of that mattered now, but it was nice to pretend those things were still important in life. It didn’t matter that Steele had contemplated taking his and Gwen’s relationship to the next level. Living by themselves, almost as if they were married. Plenty of younger folk were doing it nowadays. Trial marriages before the real deal. The prospect of marriage had loomed across the horizon in a world where a killer mutating virus hadn’t enveloped the globe. Now, he could never be sure if he would make it another day.