by Lundy, W. J.
“So that’s that then. We’re all on our own,” Luke said, taking another swig from the bottle and stuffing it back into his pack.
Weaver turned and looked out of the passenger window. “Hard to say. Knowing Gyles, once we get this mess untangled, he’ll want to head south and regroup at Stewart anyway.”
Luke shook his head. “Then you would be on your own because the Beast isn’t headed south,” he said, rubbing the dash. “I’m not exactly sure where I’ll go, but it ain’t that way.”
Weaver grinned and dipped his chin. “You’ll get no arguments from me on that.” His eyes drifted to the old farmhouse just ahead of them. “Say, where the hell are we, anyhow?”
“Nowhere, as far as I can tell. I haven’t seen any infected in a few miles. Once we drove around that last roadblock, things have even gotten suspiciously clear. I figured this was as a good place to rest as any.”
“Roadblock? What roadblock?” Weaver exclaimed.
Luke grinned. “Exactly. It wasn’t even worth waking you up for. A long line of jersey barriers, some razor wire. But that was it, no patrol cars, no people.”
“No Primals? Not even dead ones?” Weaver asked.
Luke shook his head. “Nothing. They had a small lane cut through it, looked like maybe there was a gate once, but they were all gone so I drove right through it.”
“So what’s ahead then? What am I looking at?”
Luke pointed at the map. “According to your route, we’ve got less than ten miles left. If this Mount Weather is everything they say it is” —he stopped and checked the windows again before continuing— “then I’m not sure we should be rolling up on it in the dark. Clear or not, people might be trigger happy.”
Weaver stretched and focused on the road ahead. There was a small green sign that said Paris 5 Miles just before the large farm complex. He pointed at it and said, “Unless you know where we can find a waffle house, let’s go check that place out then hole up until daylight.”
“Could be infected inside,” Luke said, his brow rising.
Weaver shrugged. “You just said you haven’t seen any since before the last roadblock, and besides, we’re in the middle of nowhere. Roads are clear.” The soldier looked at his watch. “We got some time—maybe we can find some coffee.”
Grimacing, Luke restarted the engine and put the big vehicle into gear. He let it slowly roll forward without pressing on the throttle. The slow speed helped him track objects on the side of the road without having to use the headlights. Through the pre-dawn mist, he neared the white farmhouse with clapboard siding they’d spotted earlier. The windows were all intact, curtains drawn. The grass was overgrown, the driveway void of vehicles.
Weaver whispered beside him, “It almost looks like this place has been here, frozen in time. Like the last few weeks of shit went down right around it.”
“Been that way for a few miles,” Luke said. “It’s like the Primals never got up here. Maybe that last roadblock held.”
“If it held, then where are the troops that manned it?” Weaver asked, his eyes fixed on the farm.
“Good question.”
He guided the vehicle to the shoulder and rolled past the driveway before stopping, then slowly backed into the driveway. If they did find trouble, he wanted to be able to leave in a hurry. He situated the big MRAP at a slight angle and cut the engine. With everything again silent, he made a fuss of undoing his seatbelt harness, waking up the rest of the crew. The soldiers startled awake with Tucker quickly moving toward the cupola turret.
Weaver looked back into the crew compartment. “Relax, heroes; just a pitstop.”
Tucker leaned into the turret windows, scanning. “Where in the hell are we?”
Luke ignored the query, pulled his combat lock, and popped his door open. He stepped out into the damp morning air, blinking his eyes to adjust to the low light. He looked left and right and reached back into the cab, pulling his AR-10 down with him. The air was cold and fresh, the dampness feeling good against his skin. He let his rifle hang at the low ready as he looked back in the direction they’d traveled, staring at the silent road. He listened to the clunk and hum as the back ramp dropped.
Soon, the soldiers were pouring out like they were on a mission. The men fanned to the left and right with weapons up, no sign that the soldiers had been silently asleep just minutes earlier. Luke sighed when he spotted Kate slowly walking down the ramp, following close behind the soldiers. The young girl moved into, then stopped in the middle of, their tight bubble of security. The soldiers, sensing her presence, seemed to tighten up, protecting her.
Luke shook his head. “No, Kate, back in the truck.”
She looked back and flipped him the bird, stepping closer to the soldiers standing in the dew-covered grass. When she was next to Tucker, she took a knee and hid in the sergeant’s shadow. In no mood to argue, Luke ignored the gesture and rounded the front of the MRAP and faced the old farmhouse. Weaver was already there, checking the front door from a distance. His soldiers were slowly moving around the side of the MRAP.
Scott took a knee in the grass with his rifle pointed toward one of the distant barns. The other men lined up close behind each of them and took sectors of their own, with Kate standing near them, holding her slender backpack defiantly. Luke shook his head and smirked then turned back to Weaver.
The man spit in the grass and whispered, “So what? Just like Iraq, we roll up in stack, kick the door, and clear this bitch.”
Luke grunted and shook his head no. “This ain’t Fallujah, bro. Let’s try to be neighborly first.”
He stepped off ahead of them toward the big covered front porch. At the top of the stairs was a flimsy screen door. He pulled, and it squeaked open. Behind it was a heavy wooden door with a window at the top. The window was covered with a white linen curtain. Luke rapped his knuckles on the door as he listened to the soldiers rolling up behind him. He waited a beat then knocked again. He held his breath and gripped the knob. It turned and clunked smoothly in his hand. Opening in, he released the knob from his gloved hand and let it swing open with a squeak, revealing the dark room.
Before he could step forward, a shotgun barrel dropped down into his face, followed by a raspy voice. “Something I can help you with, son?”
Chapter Thirteen
Day of Infection, Plus Nineteen
North of Hayslette, Virginia
Gyles already knew he’d made a tactical error. Before he could stand, the creature was on him, its eyes bulging, jaw extended with canine-like, snapping teeth. The once middle-aged man charged at him, screaming, its arms flailing. Gyles tried to bring his rifle around. Too late—the distance closed by the microsecond. He dropped to his rear and thrust the butt of the rifle upward with all his strength. The end of the stock caught the crazy just above the Adam’s apple.
He flinched as he heard the crunch of a broken neck and jaw as the creature’s momentum carried it over him and into the car he was kneeling beside. The blood splattered on his cheek, and Gyles frantically wiped it away with his sleeve. He looked at the dark streak on his uniform, still not completely sure how the infection was transferred. He shook his head, pushing away the concern, knowing there was no time to worry about it now. If he didn’t fight, he would be dead before some fluid transfer could take place.
He rolled away, still hearing the growl from the Primal. The creature was immobile, its neck broken, eyes continuing to dart left and right while the top of its jaw convulsed. Gyles cursed under his breath and delivered another butt stroke to the creature’s temple. This time, the monster went silent. He heard the footfalls of his men closing in beside him. He stepped forward and used the dead monster’s shirt to clean the gore from his rifle.
“What the hell happened? Thought you said it was clear,” Kenny whispered.
Gyles shook his head. “I think this asshole just ambushed me. He saw us and hid, then waited for me to cross the damn street.”
“Bullshit,” the b
ig trucker said. “These things are dumb as all get-out; they don’t think more than one or two steps ahead. They don’t ambush.”
Kenny held up his hand. “Gyles, you said there were two of them. Where is the other one?”
Before Gyles could answer, there was a roar from blocks behind them. “I think I know.” He turned back to Joe. “Get us to your damn truck now.”
The big man nodded his head feverishly then took off at a trot with Kenny following close to his side. Gyles stayed put until Mega passed by and pulled him to his feet. They turned and looked behind them, listening to the roar of the infected closing in on them. This new group wasn’t as large as the group attacking the church, but they could tell by the volume that facing them in the open wouldn’t be a healthy prospect. Gyles turned to follow the others, and the two men took off at a jog in quick pursuit.
“You know what? That was right,” Mega said, his voice at a low roar between breaths as they ran.
Gyles grunted. “Yeah, like I said, he ambushed me. Waited for me to cross then attacked.”
Mega swung his head side to side. “Nah, bro, that was a delaying action. The thing came in to sacrifice itself; it slowed us down while the other one went for help.”
Gyles could see the group ahead stacking up along the side of a building. He slowed to a walk and turned back, searching the terrain behind them. “Ambush is one thing, but that really goes above and beyond, Mega—that’s tactics.” He shook his head no. “If that was the case, they could have just screamed when they first saw us. Pointed us out to those on the road and hit us then.”
Mega grinned and slapped his weapon. “I don’t think so, Sergeant. Think of it this way—those two you saw were just out scouting.”
“I’m not tracking, Mega. What the hell are you trying to say?”
Mega shook his head. “You ever hunt wolves, Sergeant? Or better yet, you ever have one hunt your stock?” The big man spun, looking behind him then rushed up to stand beside Gyles. “Back on my grandpa’s ranch out West, they did the same thing. A pair of wolves will track a herd out in the fields. They’ll target a weak one and try to slow just that one down. Meanwhile, their pack is catching up. They go attack and wound a young calf.
“It’s just a couple wolves against an entire herd, so the entire herd might slow down, thinking they are protecting the calf. The next thing you know, they got a pack of wolves chewing on their asses. We ended up losing a couple cows instead of a calf.
“Listen, Sergeant… what I’m saying is, sure they could have called out, and then four, maybe five of them in the area could have run directly at our guns, but then what? Just a half dozen dead Primals.”
“And?” Gyles asked, his frustration building. “What’s the difference?”
“I think these things are pack hunters. Those two didn’t cry out because they needed to go back and get their pack. These things are hunting us, Sergeant. Whether any of us likes it or not, they ain’t as dumb as we want them to be.”
Gyles gulped. He didn’t want to swallow the prospect right now. “Let’s just stay on mission; okay, Mega? Let’s get this goofy bastard’s truck and get these folks out of the church. We can worry about who is hunting who then.”
“I heard that,” Joe whispered. “And my truck is just yonder. And just like I tried to tell you, it’s blocked in and surrounded by them damn things.”
The men had stopped at a corner, where the alley met the main street. Gyles knew from the vantage of the tower that this street would lead back to the church if they traveled three blocks. But he also knew from the earlier viewpoint that the road was blocked. The alley emerged from the center of the block, and even with the screaming Primals behind them, for the moment, they were undetected.
Gyles moved to the corner of the building and peered around it. A half block away was a four-way intersection. Some sort of hasty roadblock had been erected and traffic was backed up in all directions with the Primals milling around between the stopped cars and barriers.
They were on the clogged side of the roadblock, destroyed bodies and mangled cars making crossing the street impossible for them. On the side of the street closest to them was a law office, and across the street, a convenience store with broken window fronts filled with the creatures. The street in between was clogged with loads of barriers.
In the northbound lane, was the eighteen-wheeler just as Joe had said, the nose facing the roadblock and the tail pointing out of town. The big rig was butted up against the stopped cars, but the back way appeared clear. Gyles pulled back in, away from the corner and paused, listening to the roar of the pursuing infected and the distant gunshots of the church battle.
He pressed his face close to Joe’s. “Can you back it up?” he asked.
Joe snarled, “Of course I can back it up. Da hell kind of trucker do you think I am?”
The soldier shrugged. “Just trying to figure out why you ditched it in the first place.”
“Because I wasn’t going that way, asshole. The church is this way; why in the hell would I back up?” Joe said, his voice growing in volume.
Kenny pushed in. “Maybe to find a different route. One block over, I know for a fact that Michigan Avenue is open straight to the church. One road south, and you could have looped back to this alley.”
Before Joe could respond, Gyles leaned back in. “You know this for a fact?”
“For a fact,” Kenny said. “I came back through here on my own run to the Alamo a week or so ago. Police had some sort of roadblock, but they were just plastic barriers and sawhorses. All that shit was pushed aside and open. I drove my Honda Civic right through it.”
“If he can get that truck started, can you guide us back to the church?” Gyles asked.
Kenny looked at the distant semi surrounded by the Primals. “Hell, yeah—too easy, Sergeant. It’s east a few turns, and I can run that truck right down this same alley. But what about all of them things? You think those crazies will just let us walk in and drive off?”
“Let me worry about that detail. I just need you and this old coot to make sure the truck makes it back to the church,” Gyles said.
Kenny leaned around the corner again. “Then, yeah, if we can get into the cab of that truck, I can get them to the church, no problem. Count on it.”
Gyles pressed his back against the building behind him and turned to Mega. “How much ammo you got for the two-forty?”
Mega looked at his weapon then reached back and slapped his pack hanging low on his back. “Hundred in the gun, another two belts in my pack. Culver has my extra rounds.”
Nodding, Gyles waved at Culver. “Hand it over.”
Culver took a knee, removed his backpack, and pulled out a pair of 200-round belts of linked 7.62. He handed them across to Mega, who wrapped them over his shoulders Rambo style. “What you got planned, boss?” Culver whispered. “We about to make some trouble for these things?”
Shaking his head, Gyles looked back into the dark street behind them, listening to the pursuing growls as they grew louder. “Whatever is chasing us is getting closer. I need you to get these two into cover and hide there. I’m going to take Mega up on the roof of this law office and see if we can draw these things to us. We make enough noise, and you can get to the truck.”
Culver hardened his jaw and shook his head no. “You’ll be trapped. It’s better if we all stick together.”
Gyles grinned and leaned forward, looking around the corner again. “I don’t think so; the road is clear ahead. You get that truck close to the buildings, and we can jump down to the roof, then we all get the hell out of here together.”
Culver closed his eyes tight then slowly opened them. “Boss, this is one of those ideas that needs too many things to work, or it all goes to shit.” He shook his head. “I don’t like it. Let’s just fight our way to the truck, go balls deep and fight our way out of here.”
Nodding his acknowledgment but ignoring the recommendation, Gyles looked back at Mega, then poi
nted at a door in the building they were crouched next to. The sign over their head identified it as Curly and Sons, Attorneys at Law. “Get us inside,” he whispered.
He turned back to Culver. “I’m not the mission, those kids at the church are. Remember that. Now, find a hiding spot within that traffic jam. You see an opportunity, break for that truck and get it running. Lock up tight and don’t worry about us.” Gyles listened for a second then looked at Kenny and continued. “You get the truck moving, clear out of those Primals, and run close to the buildings—we’ll worry about getting on it.” He stopped and looked at Joe. “Just don’t take off too fast and leave us, you hear?”
“Loud and clear, soldier boy. I’ll drive nice and slow next to the roof and give you a really soft landing pad.”
Pointing a finger into the crowded street ahead, Gyles ordered, “Now go on, Culver—make yourself and these two disappear.”
Culver looked back at him with disapproval on his face but bumped fists with Gyles, letting him know he understood. He turned ahead and crouched around the corner with Kenny and Joe close behind him. Gyles moved close to the edge, watching the trio make their way along the sidewalk then vanish into the mess of stalled vehicles.
Gyles squinted, staring into the mass of vehicles, trying to see where they went. He watched a yellow ambulance move slightly and a door close at its rear. He dipped his chin with approval; with them out of the way, the rest was up to him.
A hiss turned him back to Mega, who had a tomahawk out, ready to attack the office door. The man’s eyes were fixed on the distant alley. Before Gyles could ask what he was waiting for, he looked in the direction the man was staring and saw the first of the pursuing Primals, a pair running ahead of an even larger pack. Gyles brought up his rifle. “Get us up to the roof. I got you covered,” he said.
