by Howard, Bob
All in all, our group was Molly’s best chance for survival in the infected world, but we had to find her and Sam fast.
“I feel a bit conspicuous in this parking lot,” said Hampton. “What’s the plan, Chief?”
They could all imagine what must be trying to reach them from the thick walls of trees surrounding the parking lot. The foliage was so dense on all sides that they could only see a few feet into the trees. They had all begun to swivel at the hips, weapons ready and watching for the first of the infected to emerge.
“If they’re following a map,” said the Chief, “they would have crossed the last tidal creek close to the boardwalk that goes from the water to Fort Johnson. That would bring them onto land by the College of Charleston Marine Laboratory. That’s about a half mile from here. The question would be whether or not they would stay on the road or head for the trees.”
“I don’t think they would have much choice,” said Tom. “As a matter of fact, I’m betting on the third option.”
“Where would that be?” asked Kathy.
“The buildings. These woods are thick. That means running into the infected without seeing them way in advance. The roads are just as bad because they can see you out in the open. By now they may be in big trouble.”
The Chief pointed toward the southeast.
“This way through the woods to the road, or we can use that driveway and stay on the road the whole way.”
As a group we weren’t too keen on the idea of going into those woods. We were used to the woods on Mud Island and even on the other side of the moat that surrounded the island, but this was different. The trees were close together, and the brush under them was dense. Not much light could be filtering down to the floor of these woods.
With the helicopter secured, we broke into a trot and silently formed a line behind the Chief as he led the way to the parking lot entrance. A quick left and a second left almost immediately put us out onto Fort Johnson Road.
I felt like we were somewhere else in the world, not just a couple of miles from the suburbs. We were looking down the middle of a virtual tunnel made of trees that interlocked their branches above the road. It was a great place for tourists, but the dark shapes we could see in the road ahead weren’t about to welcome us to Fort Johnson in a friendly way.
“We can’t shoot our way through that,” said Hampton.
Tom answered a bit more sharply than he had intended.
“You have a better idea?”
Before Tom could answer, the Chief stepped between them and said, “We approach slowly staying quiet and as low to the ground as we can. As we encounter the infected, we take them out with knives and machetes. We only shoot if we have to fall back or if they get behind us. Understood?”
Everyone nodded agreement, and we moved forward again. The Chief eased closer to the right side of the road as we shouldered our rifles and drew our machetes. We were practically brushing against the trees, and it gave me the feeling that we were going to be swarmed from the dark places under the leaves at any moment.
We came to the first of the infected only twenty or thirty yards down the road. The moaning that escaped from the shattered face of the man that had become an infected creature quickly drew the attention of more of the dark shadows that had been milling around in the middle of the road. They turned in our direction as if they had been called by the first walking corpse, and they joined in with him in a chorus of moans.
“We have to work fast,” said Kathy. “We need to shut them up before they draw more into the area.”
Arms reached out from the infected as they gathered, and arms reached out from us as we moved in with our blades in front of us.
We had learned, mostly through trial and error, how to take out the threat of being bitten as fast as possible. It started with approaching the target with the blade extended. It was surprisingly easy to push the machete tip upward under the chin of an infected, slicing neatly into the brain. A quick pull backward would free the blade, and we could approach the next one.
We used to slash at the infected because it seemed that was the best way to use a machete, but it was too easy to get a blade stuck in a skull or a neck. While we were trying to pull the blades free, the infected were trying to bite the arms that were so tempting as they flailed in front of their faces.
As we took down the first of the infected to reach us, we tried to keep moving along the right side of the road. If Molly and Sam were going to be in a building, it would be on that side.
We worked well together and didn’t let ourselves get bunched up. Before long we had a rhythm going, and five blades were going in as five blades were coming out. The road was so littered with bodies of the infected that we were leaving a barrier behind us. When the infected finally began coming out of the woods behind us, they tripped and fell over the bodies. They weren’t making much progress getting to us because they would no sooner get up from a fall when they would trip over another corpse.
Light began to filter through the trees and we found ourselves at what we thought was our goal, but it was the driveway to a smaller building. The sign at the entrance said it was the Charleston location for NOAA, the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration.
“The National Weather Service,” said the Chief. “The kids wouldn’t have made it this far if they stopped to take a break, or if they took the time to check out the Marine Laboratory.”
“How far to the College of Charleston buildings?” asked Kathy.
“Maybe a half mile,” I said. “I visited the place a long time ago. They were doing some amazing things growing fresh water shrimp.”
“Thanks for the strategic update,” said Tom. “Anything you can remember about the place that might be useful?”
I didn’t take offense at Tom’s sarcastic tone. If it had been my child out there with no one but a teenaged boy protecting her, I might have sounded worse.
“There was security on the building,” I said.
I hoped that would make Tom feel like his daughter could have found a safe place to hole up if they had been chased into hiding by the infected. I was surprised that it had brought everyone to a stop.
“What kind of security?” asked Cassandra. “Hard to get in or hard to get out?”
“I guess both,” I answered, still uncertain about the reaction.
Then it came to me. This secluded strip of land that jutted out toward the harbor was the perfect place to take a last stand, and FEMA had most likely brought resources here. Resources meant lots of people, and that was why there were so many infected on the road and in the woods. I could only imagine what it was like inside the buildings. The people who had died inside them were still in there, but they weren’t people anymore.
“They probably couldn’t even get inside,” I said.
My voice sounded weak even to me.
We had another thick group of the infected to push through before we reached the next entrance, but then we had a clear stretch where we made up for lost time. Colleen had a close call when an infected literally fell from a thick tree limb that stretched over the road. It knocked her over, but since she was toward the front of the group there were plenty of us who were able to impale its head before it could bite her.
Colleen let loose a colorful stream of profanity that I was sure contained new words, but she ended with the question of how an infected had gotten up into the trees.
Hampton did his best to calm her down and suggested that maybe the man died in the tree and had been stuck in the branches since. Everyone must have been on edge because she snapped back at him that she really wasn’t expecting an explanation, but since he was in the mood to give one, he should consider the possibility that it had fallen from a plane.
I had to admit, it would have been funny if it hadn’t scared all of us so badly. I thought I saw a very slight twitch at the corner of the Chief’s mouth as he tried to suppress a grin.
Colleen shook herself loose from Hampton a
nd went up to the front of the group alongside Tom. Kathy conceded her spot up front and dropped back next to Hampton.
“Don’t take it personally,” she whispered. “She’s only mad because I think she wet herself a little.”
Hampton choked and pretended to be fighting back a sneeze as he moved to the back of the group.
“There’s our turn up ahead,” said the Chief. “Keep moving unless I say to stop.”
The entrance to the College of Charleston Marine Laboratory had been blocked by sandbags and barbed wire. It looked suspiciously like the place I had seen on TV in the first days of the infection. I had no doubt that we would find the infection had gotten inside the barriers.
We picked our way over the barbed wire fences being careful not to snag our clothing on the razor sharp blades, and it was exactly as we expected inside. Security doors were smashed, and furniture had been piled on the stairs. Even if this wasn’t the same building I had seen on TV, the scenario that had played out as people retreated to safety must have been played out in hundreds and thousands of places. The survivors in this building would have made it to a higher floor, but then they would have discovered their lack of water and food. Maybe someone in their group had been bitten, and keeping them alive was not going to be good for the group.
The lobby of the building was mostly debris and pieces of glass. Wrecked computers and overturned shelves were evidence of a battle fought almost seven years ago. Moist walls covered with mold made the place smell like old, wet paper, but one smell permeated the air. People had bled and died here, and the infected had roamed the halls long after people stopped seeking refuge in this building.
“I don’t think they would have found this place too interesting,” said Kathy. “After Fort Sumter, the smell here would have been too offensive, and the humidity is unbearable.”
The group was in agreement that Molly and Sam would have done nothing more than give the building a quick look. They had both survived some close calls in bad conditions, but Kathy was right. If they wanted to find a place of their own, they would have something romantic in mind. Maybe a hut on a peaceful lagoon. A moldy deathtrap wouldn’t be their idea of roughing it with a smile on their faces.
We shouldn’t have been surprised by the reception committee that had gathered outside the building. Before they could even get clear of the front door, the parking lots and driveways had filled with the infected.
“I don’t think the kids came this way,” said Tom. “At least I hope they didn’t.”
CHAPTER THREE
Recruited
Before the Decline
Maybank was in his last week of high school when he met Titus Rush. A friend had given him a magazine about the end of the world, and about how everyone should get ready. There were pictures of shelters under construction and lists of companies that would build them for anyone who could afford them.
The magazine had some really great tips about what you could or could not eat, what plants to avoid, and how you could burn a crayon like a candle for hours. He liked the pictures of the best places to build shelters, but what really caught his eyes were the pictures of the weapons recommended by the survivalists.
There were big things happening in the world, and he didn’t have to be convinced that everything was going to get blown up sooner or later. Vietnam was in his future. That was another thing he was sure of. Body counts were posted on the news every day, and the only way out of it was college, something he couldn’t afford, not on his pay. He could get a few scholarships, but not enough to make up the difference. It was a rotten way to plan for college, but he figured if he could survive a year in Vietnam, maybe he could get the GI Bill benefits to pay his way through school. He considered other branches of the service, but a recruiter had visited his school and told him he would have to enlist for a few more years, and he could still wind up in Vietnam.
One of the magazines on the shelf at the grocery store where he worked had an article about a survivalist group that was having a meeting in Columbia, South Carolina. What he didn’t know was that the public meeting was a cover for a secret meeting the group was having with the Army at Fort Jackson. At least he didn’t know about it when he read the article.
The public meeting was being held at a county library, and the article said the topic of discussion was survival of the coming apocalypse. His dad said it was all just a bunch of bull and anti-war propaganda. He said they just wanted his money. Danny figured it wouldn’t hurt to go listen because he didn’t have any money. Besides, it sounded like fun.
It was fun, but not for the reasons he expected. He sat in the back row because everyone else was older than him, and there were a lot of hippies. It wasn’t that he had anything against hippies. It was his paranoia about getting busted. Looking around the room at all the long hair and bell-bottoms, he was sure everyone had something illegal on them.
Despite the paranoia, he started enjoying himself as soon as people started taking their turns talking. There were several people scattered around the room on their folding chairs who claimed to have been abducted by aliens. They all told similar stories about bright lights, electronics going haywire, and being subjects in experiments. They were all poked and prodded. Listening to them was a riot.
“Okay, who do we have up next?”
There was a man running the meeting who was looking at a sheet of paper attached to a clipboard.
“Danny Maybank, you’re next on the list. Why do you want to join American Survivalists?”
The man was swiveling his head around making his shoulder length hair and beard give him a mountain man appearance. His eyes searched the faces waiting for someone to admit their name had been called.
Maybank was caught off guard. He had heard them calling out names before people started speaking, but he missed the part about this being a membership drive. He sank a little lower in his chair, but the guy sitting next to him cleared his throat really loud and then pointed at him.
“Well, son. What’ve you got to say?”
Since he was discovered, he hesitantly stood up and said, “Hi, I’m Danny Maybank.”
He didn’t know why that was funny, but a lot of the people in the room laughed.
“This isn’t an AA meeting,” whispered the guy who had pointed at him. “You sound like your next line will be that you’re an addict.”
“Oh, sorry everyone. Hey, listen, I just thought this meeting would be interesting. That’s why I came to it. You can go on to the next person.”
He sat down and thought that would be the last of it, but the guy next to him handed him a card and said, “Give me a call.”
When the guy up front called on the next person on the list, Danny saw a big guy in front stand up. He thought he only glanced that way for a second, but when he turned back to ask the man why he should call him, he was gone.
After the meeting Maybank went into the library and checked out a stack of books about home remedies, survival, and weapons. Part of him said this stuff might keep him alive in Vietnam.
He was leaving when he saw the leader of the group in the parking lot talking with the guy who had been sitting next to him. He couldn’t resist interrupting them.
“Hi.”
That was all he got out of his mouth before the big guy said the rest.
“I’m Danny Maybank, and I’m an addict.”
Their laughs were so natural that he didn’t feel like he was being laughed at, or he might have just walked away.
“Vince Clayborn,” said the big man. He held his hand out to Danny to shake. Danny felt like the hand had a baseball glove on it because it was so big and calloused.
The second man, considerably shorter and extremely relaxed, held out his hand.
“Titus Rush. Nice to meet you, Danny.”
“Call me Maybank,” he managed to say in a voice that sounded different from a kid who was just about to graduate from high school. As he spoke he realized it was the effect this man had on h
im. There was something calming about him that made Maybank like him and trust him immediately. Even though he had outed him in the meeting.
“Why did you ask me to call you, Mr. Rush?”
“You can call me Titus, and Vince here has never liked being called Mr. Clayborn. What did you think of the meeting?”
“Well, it was interesting. There were some entertaining stories.”
“To say the least,” said Titus. “If you were the guy in charge…”
“President,” said Vince.
“Man, you know I hate being called that.”
“Yes, why do you think I call you that?”
“Wait a minute, you’re the President of the club? Why were you on the back row?”
“To watch people better. If you were the person in charge of a group like that, would you allow those space travelers to join?”
“I imagine you have a hard enough time being taken seriously without adding nuts to your club.”
“Exactly,” said Vince. “Our funding source already wants us all to get haircuts and dress better.”
“Funding source?”
“Kid, got any plans for the rest of your life?”
Maybank was caught off guard for the second time in the last hour.
“Yeah, but not what you would call good plans. Why?”
“You might call us a rather select group. We need just a couple more members, and almost everyone in the room was there to judge the newbies who want to join. Our funding source gave us until tomorrow if we want to go forward, and you were almost a unanimous choice.”
Maybank felt a little dizzy, and he wondered what he had gotten himself into.
“Don’t decide right this moment, kid. Go home and think about it, and if you decide you’re interested give me a call by 9:00 AM tomorrow. We’ll send someone by to pick you up.”
“I have a car.”
“You won’t be able to take it where we’re going,” said Vince. “You can ride with us.”
