Whiskey
Tango Foxtrot

Something to Fight For

By
W. J. Lundy

12.05.2014

Whiskey Tango Foxtrot

Something
to Fight For

© 2014
W. J. Lundy

This book
is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products
of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be
construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events,
locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental. All Rights Are Reserved. No
part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without
written permission from the author.

* * *

Cover Art by

André Vazquez Jr.

CHAPTER
1

The
South Carolina Dead Lands

The riverboat
glided heavy on the currents of the muddy river. Shane stood with his back to
the pilothouse and compulsively checked his rifle. Dropping the magazine and
pushing his finger against the weak tension of the rounds, he knew he was down
to his last twelve bullets. He sighed and reinserted the magazine before moving
toward the stern of the craft.  Close to the rail, he saw the girl sleeping
with his worn wool army blanket still covering her. Shane dropped to the deck,
slid closer to the girl, and nestled in beside her. He looked around to ensure
no one was watching before he pulled back the blanket and lifted the girl’s
sleeve to check the bandage on her arm.

The swelling was
gone, but the bite marks and scabbed over scratches were still visible. How the
girl was still alive only God knew, but he had taken on the task of keeping her
that way, and as long as she lived, Shane had a mission. With a mission, Shane
had an excuse to push on rather than give in to the temptations of a peaceful
death. If the other passengers saw the girl’s wounds though, he knew they would
throw her over the side… or worse. He pulled the bandage back over the wounds,
wrapped her tightly in the blanket, and slid his pack in front of her to shield
the girl from the others milling around nearby. Shane apprehensively put his
trust in the band of survivors for the sake of the girl when normally he would
be wary of strangers and keep his distance. So, although he knew they were not
his friends, he had partnered with this motley group out of necessity; the girl
deserved at least that much.

Shane looked to
the bow of the old boat as they drifted slowly down the river toward the coast.
He wasn’t a nautical man, so he wasn’t sure what type of craft it was. Wide and
flat bottomed with a large open front deck, it had a small white pilothouse set
in the center of its length. Sometimes he would see an armed man on the roof of
the house. Most of the crew stayed inside when they weren’t working though; he
presumed they were avoiding the passengers that were gathered on the deck and
scattered against the rails, or any open space they could lay claim to. Some of
his fellow passengers were armed, but most weren’t—or they were good at hiding their
weapons. Either way, Shane avoided eye contact; he didn’t want to look friendly
or present himself as a victim to any of them.

He saw the captain—Shane
still didn’t know what to call the white-bearded old man in dingy yellow
slickers—working an oar while another sailor was on the opposite side with a
long pole, trying to control the direction of the craft. The boat had been
without fuel since he’d boarded it with the girl. Finding this boat was the
only thing that had gone well for him in a long time. Even before the fall,
he’d never managed to catch a real break, even with the best of luck. “Unemployable”
is what the VA called him—try finding a job, or a decent girlfriend, with that
label. Outside of the army, Shane had never been good at anything; maybe
that’s why he went to the military installation at the edge of town when things
began to fall apart.

He’d witnessed the
violence from his fourth floor apartment, mostly on the TV, sometimes the
radio, and after a few days, he just watched it from his window. It started
overseas and had quickly spread to the Border States. They blamed it on
terrorists using some new bio-weapon. Shane went through a month of PTSD pills
in a week just trying to keep his anxiety in check as he watched the world fall
apart around him. When the riots started and the city began to burn, he made a
personal choice to die on the streets fighting, not hiding in his apartment
like a coward. He dug through his hall closet until he found the small canvas
bag.

Shane left most of his
old uniforms in a dumpster when he was discharged from the Army, but he’d kept
one. It was worn and battered but still bore all of his patches. It was
definitely not the typical clean and pressed uniform that soldiers wore when on
garrison duty state side. It was the uniform he’d worn on his last deployment, the
one that sent him home with pins in his back and a headache that never went
away. He put on the uniform and stood in front of his bathroom mirror, frowning.
His hair was shoulder length; his beard long and unkempt. He barely looked the twenty-eight
year old man that he knew he still was.

“Damn,” he said, laughing
and shaking his head as he undressed, “the Sergeant Major would have my ass.”

Shane opened a
drawer and removed a pair of clippers. He shaved his head and then his face. When
enough of the matted hair had been removed, he lathered up and used a razor.
When he was dressed again and looked in the mirror, he could almost see a bit
of the soldier he had once been. He reached into a drawer, snatched up a bottle
of pain pills, and dry swallowed several of them before he paused momentarily
to look at the bottle in his hand. He grinned and then poured the remaining
pills into the sink.

Still smiling to
himself, he walked through his tiny apartment to stop in front of a small
bookshelf that held a single framed image; he carried one just like it in his
wallet. Even though he knew his old friends would laugh at him if they
witnessed it, he put on his patrol cap and stood at attention. As the sound of
gunfire and screaming began making its way into the hallways of his apartment,
he looked at the photo of the confident young men in uniform gathered around an
armored Humvee. He gave the framed photo a scolding face and saluted. “I’ll be
with you soon, brothers,” he vowed. He then snapped his arm back to his side
and walked out of his apartment into the smoke-filled hallway.

A violent thud
rattled the boat, causing Shane to pull the rifle closer to his chest and snap
out of his reverie. At the same time, his left arm instinctively dropped down to
shield the sleeping girl. His sudden movement caught the eye of the captain,
who shot him a sadistic grin. “Take it easy, soldier, just a submerged log
hitting up against the bottom.”

Shane pulled his
arm back to his side and let the rifle rest in his lap. He looked off into the
night over the rail and glanced at the far bank of the river. He saw a pack of
them, their shadows cast long by the bright moon and stretching across the
water toward him. The things walked slowly and followed the drifting boat,
waiting for an opportunity to lunge at them and get on board. They were always
hunting them, always ready to strike. He could raise his rifle and kill them until
he was out of ammo, but more would come. It was useless—they were always there
and he was always running from them.

Shane had been on
the run with the girl since the fort fell. He was on tower watch when they
breached the gate. They made him a team leader when he checked in and put him
in charge of a number of junior soldiers.

Shane laughed to
himself when he thought back to the moment he walked past the large crowd and
to the small armory’s gate. The other civilians barely noticed him, even with
his uniform jacket coated in dried blood, the sleeves ripped. The civilians
were too preoccupied with entering the small fort and escaping the terror that
was moving toward them.

Not Shane though;
he didn’t care what was behind. He had already placed his fate in God’s hands. What
was behind him wasn’t his concern. He moved stoically, like on a mission, and
it was his job to be there. Not that he cared if the fort would accept him or
not. He just knew if he didn’t have a purpose, he would quit, and he didn’t
want to go out like that—with nothing to fight for. When the military police on
duty saw him approach the gate, they pushed back the mass and dragged him
forward through the crowds.

“Sergeant, what the
hell are you doing out here?” one of them yelled as they grabbed his arms and
pulled him through the barriers to behind the safety of the gates. Shane took a
moment to look at the armed men around him but before he could speak, they
looked suspiciously at the uniform he was wearing.

“Who are you with, sergeant?
Why are you wearing that IR flag patch? Are you deployed? You on R&R
leave?” one of them asked in rapid fire as he looked at the patches normally
worn by soldiers on deployment.

Shane looked at the
soldier with a dazed expression, still surprised to be taken in so easily.
“Yeah… I was on leave. I’m just trying to make it back to my unit,” he bluffed.

“Shit, sergeant,
haven’t you heard? All of the deployed units have been recalled. Your unit’s
probably on their way back to D.C. or Bragg. You better check in with the LT,
maybe he can help you hook up with your command.”

Shane nodded and
looked back at the screaming civilians still fighting to get close to the gates.

“Sergeant!” the
soldier in charge shouted, trying to regain his attention.

“Looks like you
been through a lot,” he said, indicating the blood on Shane’s jacket.

“Yeah, it’s bad out
there; worse than anything I’ve ever seen.”

“Where’d you come
from?”

“Huh? Oh, down on
32nd street,” Shane said barely above a whisper.

“What the… 32nd?
That’s out behind the roadblocks in the containment zone! How the hell’d you
make it out of there?” the soldier said with disbelief in his voice.

“Walked mostly,”
Shane said.

The soldier laughed.
“Well shit… we got us a Rambo, fellas. Private Nichols, get the truck and run
the sergeant here back to the operations tent. I’m sure the LT will have work
for him.”

CHAPTER 2

Atlantic Coast Line

Brad watched men dressed in yellow
and orange jackets walk the decks of the black submarine. Sailors appeared to
be deploying an inflatable boat while more men stood atop the sail looking back
at him with binoculars of their own. It’d been over two hours since they
encountered the vessel. Two silent hours, with little to no contact other than
a flashed Morse code message requesting they silence their radios, kill their
engines, and cease the ping.

“They’re prepping a boarding
party,” Gunner said casually as he watched the foreign team through his
binoculars ready their craft. The men in orange lowered it into the water and
attached it with lines and a flimsy netted ladder.

“What do we do?” Parker asked
excitedly. “Who are they?”

“Doesn’t matter who they are, let’s
get ready to meet our new friends,” Gunner answered.

Joey Vilegas pushed his way toward
the front of the group so he could see over the rail. Brad noticed that Vilegas
had used the down time to put on his tactical vest and attach his weapon to the
front with a clip. The rest of them were still casually dressed in their
uniform trousers and t-shirts; only a few of them even carried side arms.

“How do we know they’re friends?”
Joey asked accusingly.

Sean put his hand on Vilegas’
shoulder and gently directed him back to the wheel house. “Get that weapon
inside and out of sight!”

Vilegas planted his feet and pushed
back. “Why? Don’t we want them to know we ain’t defenseless, that we aren’t a
soft target?”

Sean grunted. “If they wanted us
dead, we would be on the bottom already,” he said as he walked back to look
Vilegas face-to-face. He put his hand on his shoulder, with less aggression this
time.

“So, let’s just throttle back a
notch and see what they have to say.”

Vilegas looked down at the deck
then glanced over his shoulder at the submarine. “Yeah, you’re probably right;
I’ll be inside. If you need me, I’ll be ready,” he said as he turned and moved
back to join Kelli on the bridge.

“They’re in the water, Chief!”
Brooks called out from the bow, causing all of them to turn their attention
back to the visitors.

Sean moved back to the bow and
watched the small boat pull away from the larger vessel. “Okay, fellas, they
have the bigger bank and all the good cards, so let’s just play this hand out
before we go getting silly.”

“Understood, Chief,” Brad said as
he stepped back and joined the rest of the crew near the wheelhouse. Gunner and
Sean moved aft and descended the ladder toward the lower dive deck.

The ribbed inflatable moved in the
direction of the Coast Guard vessel. There were six men on board; all appeared
to be armed and in uniform. The boat made a straight line directly toward them,
then cut an arc fifty feet off of their port side. The small boat moved past
them, turned sharply, and came back up to within thirty feet of the Coast Guard
vessel’s dive deck before cutting their speed and stopping hard in the water. A
man stood, looked at the ship, and then lifted a bull horn to his mouth. “Good
evening, I am Chief Marcus Richardson. Request permission to come aboard,” he
shouted over the horn.

“Parker, Nelson, would you join us
below and prepare to catch a line?” Gunner shouted in a voice loud enough to be
heard by the approaching craft.

The small craft idled closer to the
landing ladder. A line was tossed and caught by Corporal Parker who quickly
pulled the small boat in and tied it to a cleat bolted to the deck. Extending a
hand, Nelson reached over the rail and assisted with pulling the crew members
aboard.

The sailors filed off the small
boat and moved back to stand against the rail while holding their weapons
casually. They wore plain blue utility uniforms and all were armed with SA80s
that hung casually from their slings. The man that identified himself as the
Chief stepped forward and again introduced himself. “Excuse me for the
awkwardness of this introduction. As you are well aware, formalities have grown
tiresome in recent days. As I said before, I am Chief Petty Officer Richardson
of the HMS Attack and this is a portion of our crew.”

Sean moved forward with his hand
extended. “I am Chief Sean Rogers; you could say I am the current chief of the
boat. Welcome aboard,” Sean said, stepping ahead of Gunner. “Might I ask what
brings you into our waters?”

Richardson smiled and returned
Sean’s handshake. He turned his head making an obvious display of looking over
the ship and its crew. “You seem to be a bit out of place here. Your vessel has
Canadian markings; Coast Guard even. Yet your uniforms— “

“Yes, we are a bit of a motley crew.
It’s a long story,” Sean replied.

“One that my captain would love to
hear. We were expecting Canadians, but I guess that explains the radio calls. My
captain has asked that I extend an invitation to your captain and first
officer… or perhaps your leadership element, as I seem to recognize an absence
of officers on the deck.”

Sean chuckled. “Yes, this is a bit
of an ad hoc crew. Put together more out of necessity than by military
protocol. Before I can accept an invitation, I need to know who we are dealing
with.”

Gunner, having held his tongue long
enough, finally spoke. “Richardson, we have been out of contact with the States
for quite some time. We really don’t know what you are doing here. Or even
where the United Kingdom stands as a nation.”

“You really are unaware?”
Richardson asked with a puzzled expression.

“Unaware of what?” Sean asked.

“There are no more nations,
gentlemen; at least not in the sense that they existed months ago. And as to
the question of us being in your waters… we haven’t spotted a US flagged
vessel in weeks. Most of your standing fleet has fled or is resting on the
bottom.”

Sean looked at Richardson with his
best poker face. “I think you may be wrong about that; the fleet is out there—a
carrier and her support vessels—I have seen it personally.”

Richardson smiled. “Oh yes, the fleet.
We know all about them. Anchored off the Horn of Africa is it? I assume from
your current location, you know as much about the fleet as we do.”

Gunner once again interjected,
“Okay, okay, Chief Richardson, what is it we’re all doing out here? What do you
want from us?”

“Like I said before, sir, my captain
would like to invite you aboard. He has much to discuss.”

Gunner smiled back at the confident
man. “Chief, I’ll send three of my men, but I must insist that you and two of
your own remain here and keep me company in their absence. I’m sure you
understand.”

Richardson looked at Gunner with a
cold stare, slowly letting the corners of him mouth curl up into a grin. He
turned and looked back at his own men before looking back at Gunner. “Sir, I
don’t understand… are you, or are you not, in charge?”

Gunner held his smile. “I would say
we have ourselves a bit of leadership by committee. I may be the senior, or
maybe not. You know how us Yanks tend to embrace our democracies. However, if I
were in charge, I wouldn’t abandon my ship.”

Richardson shook his head and let
out an exaggerated laugh. “I have no idea what in the hell you just said, mate,
but I guess it all makes sense somehow. “

Richardson unclipped a radio
handset that was attached just below his right collar. He turned away from
Gunner, faced the rail, and spoke into the handset in a low voice. He nodded
and clipped the handset back to his collar as he looked back at Gunner. “Select
your party, it appears we will be spending some time together.”

“Very well… Chief Rodgers, would
you kindly pick two of your finest to join you for a friendly visit to our
neighbors?”  Gunner said without looking away from Richardson.

CHAPTER 3

The sun slowly rose, letting rays
of light spill through the now leafless trees. Shane watched as the ship’s crew
steered the boat toward the center of the wide river. They tossed heavy
weighted drag anchors over the side, and the ropes pulled tight, halting the
forward motion of the riverboat. The crew refused to travel during the daylight,
when the things ashore were least active. They picked those hours to sleep and
lounge about in the hot sun.

It was the opposite on dry land but,
out here, he had to trust the crew, or at least accept their decisions. He
wasn’t in charge and was relegated to being nothing more than cargo; a possible
trigger finger if the need arose. The crew posted watches while the rest of
them walked into the pilothouse and pulled dark shades over the windows. A door
slammed and the girl startled awake. She struggled to sit up. Shane quickly
moved to her side and calmly placed an open hand on her chest.  She relaxed her
tensed body and smiled at him. “Shane,” she said calmly and grabbed his gloved
hand, hugging it.

She was skinny and frail in Shane’s
eyes. Not that he had much experience with children; they all looked tiny and
fragile to him. When he first found her in the aid station, he wanted nothing
to do with her. He just wanted to keep moving, get on his way. But there was
something different about her, maybe in the way she looked at him. Maybe
because she didn’t appear afraid. Something in her demeanor calmed him, but
more importantly, she made him feel useful again.

He grabbed her below the arms and
lifted her into a seated position on his rucksack. Then, he pulled a small
bottle of water from his pack and used it to clean her face. He asked if she was
hungry and she nodded. Shane pulled a small chunk of a granola bar from his
pocket and handed it to the girl. She gave him a sour expression. “You need to
eat, Ella,” he said softly. She looked at him dreadfully, then took the bar and
bit off a small piece. Shane placed the water bottle in her free hand and
turned back to face the center of the riverboat.

The rest of the passengers were up
and stirring about now. Families and loaners alike, with a few suspicious
looking characters mixed in the group. None of them on a direct path and yet
all of them just trying to stay ahead of the things on the shore. A quick
movement in his peripheral caught his attention. A man dressed in rags had
reached past Shane and snatched at Ella’s wrist going for the morsel of granola.
The girl winced in pain as Shane quickly turned and tackled the man to the
ground. Shane had drawn his knife without realizing it and had the blade
pressed against the man’s neck.

Shane was prepared to pull the
blade horizontally and open the man’s throat. A fearful pleading scream behind
him caused his grip to relax on the man. Shane rose up slowly, leaving the
stranger lying flat on the deck of the ship. Ella was crying softly now. Shane
moved back toward her, keeping his eyes on the man. A young woman ran forward
and grabbed the ragged man. Forcing herself between Shane and the thief on the
ground she pleaded, “Please don’t kill him mister, he was just trying to get
food for our boy.”

Shane looked stone faced in the
direction the woman was indicating and saw a child lying in a mess of blankets.
His checks were shallow, obviously suffering from starvation. For many of them,
the cost of this voyage was a significant store of food or fresh water; for
some of the women, the cost was greater. Shane continued to move back,
preparing to sit next to the girl when he heard a shout—this time from a male
voice.

A man had stepped forward and was
pointing to the girl. “She… she’s bit!” the man yelled.

Shane turned looking at the girl.
He could see that in the short struggle with the thief, the girl’s sleeve had
been torn, exposing the scabbed and bloodied wound on her arm. Losing his
footing, Shane nearly tripped and fell into the corner where the girl was
sitting. He raised his rifle and looked the shouting man in the face.

“It’s not what you think, sir. Now
go back about your business,” Shane said calmly, as the girl curled tightly
against his back to shield herself from the man’s cold stares.

The young woman, who had come to
the thief’s aid, now stood and pointed as well. “No. It’s true, I saw it, she
been bit.”

Others started to gather around,
causing Shane to grow more concerned. He pushed back against the rail, keeping
Ella between him and the ship’s edge. “You all need to back up now, the girl
isn’t infected.”

“She bit!” the young woman screamed
again, causing Shane to focus on her.

The pilothouse door swung open and
the old captain stormed out. The shouting man used the distraction to his
advantage and dove at Shane to try to get to the girl. Shane dropped levels and
spun, firing a single round that caught the lunging man in the chest. As the
report of the rifle echoed off the river valley walls, the man dropped hard to
the deck and rolled to his side. Blood spilled from his mouth as his eyes
fluttered. The rest of the passengers pushed away in fear. Shane stood tall,
still shielding the girl with his body. He looked back at the passengers. “I
said she wasn’t infected!  You all know that, we’ve been with you two days! She
would have been gone by now!” Shane yelled.

The captain walked calmly toward
the shot man lying on the deck. He pushed the man with his boot then turned to
look at Shane. “He’s dead. You killed him.”

The woman rushed to the captain’s
side. “She bit Captain, the girl got to go,” the woman screamed.

The captain held up a hand,
silencing the woman. “Well, soldier, is she bit?”

Still holding the rifle at the
ready, Shane looked at the captain. He could see other members of the crew were
walking out of the pilothouse, several of them armed. Shane lowered the muzzle
of the rifle, hoping it would ease the tension, but as he did so, he saw the
crew instead move more aggressively toward him. Shane let his free hand reach
into a front pocket of his jacket. He pulled a M67 frag grenade.  As he held
the grenade forward, displaying it clearly to the armed men around him, he used
his thumb to pop the already loosened pin and safety.

He watched the body language of the
crew grow more fearful; they changed direction and moved away from him. The captain
also moved back, raising his hands in the air. “Calm down now, soldier; no need
for all of that.”

“I already told you she ain’t
infected,” Shane said, keeping the rifle on the captain with his right hand as
he held the grenade with his left. “Her wound is nearly healed, the infected
turn before they heal.”

The captain frowned. “I reckon we’re
beyond that now, soldier. You know the rules on this riverboat. No infected, no
killing. You broke both those rules. Even if she ain’t infected, you still
killed one of us. Now you know you got to go.”

Shane looked at the captain and
pointed to the man on the ground. “He came at the girl. It was self-defense.”

“You knew the rules when we let you
on. You got to go.”

Shane pumped his hand on the
grenade. “You put us out there, we’re dead,” he said softly trying to reason
with the man.

The captain nodded and took a step
closer. He spoke in a low voice so that the others couldn’t hear him. “Son, I’m
giving you a chance here. These people won’t let you be after what you did. And
the woman says your daughter is bit. I know it ain’t possible with how long you
been with us. But she ain’t gonna let that rest.”

“She’s not my daughter,” Shane
said.

“Son, it don’t matter to me who she
is. If I walk away right now, my crew will shoot you dead—grenade or not—and
those passengers will tear that girl apart out of fear of the virus.”  The captain
looked back at the passengers and his crew, then back to Shane. Speaking louder
for all to hear, “The water is fast here and it looks to be nice weather. You
get moving now and you could make it pretty far, maybe even get to shore
safely.”

“We won’t last out there,” Shane
said.

“I’m sure you’ll get along all
right. Now, I’m gonna give you a minute or two to get your shit together and
get off my vessel. If you’re still here, my men will shoot you down,” the captain
finished off quietly.

CHAPTER 4

Brad was in the center of the small
inflatable with Sean and Brooks flanking him on either side. His hands were
pressed flat on the bottom, trying to steady himself as the craft cut the
wakes. As soon as Gunner gave Sean the choice of selecting his team, Brad knew
that he would be on the short list. He would have preferred sitting this one
out and watching it from the sidelines for once, but Sean had made it clear he
thought of Brad as one of his team now. Brad was no longer a stranger to them
and, truthfully, Brad knew he would have been disappointed if he hadn’t been
selected.

He hadn’t picked up on much of
Gunner’s conversation with the British sailors. He could clearly feel the
tension though. After their time with the fleet, he wasn’t expecting rescue but
he was still surprised at the attitude of the visiting sailors. Things happened
fast once Gunner gave orders to board the foreign vessel. Sean called Brook’s
name, then Brad’s, in quick order. Gunner told them they wouldn’t need their
weapons or armor. Brad had scrambled his way to the dive deck and was quickly
ushered aboard the small boat. He didn’t have time to talk to Chelsea or any of
the others. When he looked back at her on the upper deck near the rail, he
could see the worried and confused expression on her face.

As they drew closer to the
submarine, he could see a group of armed men gathered on the front deck. Not a
welcome party but more of a guard force. The sailors onboard the small craft
hadn’t spoken, other than to call out commands to each other while completely
ignoring the Americans. Brad watched as one of them stood in the bow of the
boat just as they bumped into the side of the submarine. Men aboard the sub
tossed over a net and told them to climb.

Brad followed Sean’s lead as he
grabbed the netting and pulled himself up. When Brad reached the surface of the
deck, he felt a strong grip around his wrists as he was pulled up and onto the
deck. He swung his foot below him and slowly regained his balance. Brooks was
similarly pulled up behind him, and then the rest of the sailors crowded them
forward, toward the center of the deck.

He stepped forward and saw that he
was surrounded by armed sailors. Just as Sean was about to speak, they quickly
stepped back creating a hole. Two men stepped toward them and stopped when they
were only a few paces from Sean. The taller of the two men examined their
uniforms then looked at Sean. “And who is senior in this group?” he asked
without introducing himself.

Sean smiled and looked over the
tall, broad-shouldered older man. His hair was silver and cut short. Unlike the
others wearing raincoats, this man was dressed in a pressed dark blue shirt
with the sleeves rolled to just below the elbows. He had officer insignia on
his collars and was wearing a holster on his hip, but his firearm was absent. His
younger—and far more intense looking—sidekick was wearing the same uniform and
an identical empty holster. The tall man caught Sean’s obvious gaze at their
lack of side arms.

“Ah yes, I was informed that you
would be joining me unarmed. I thought it only fair to leave my weapon in my
quarters,” the man said, in a softer tone than before.

Sean chuckled. “Nice gesture. Forgive
me if I don’t celebrate. I see you still brought plenty of muscle,” he said,
looking left and right at the armed men surrounding them.

“Do the weapons bother you?” the officer
said.

Sean smiled. “Nah, the sergeant
behind me is a trained attack dog.  I give the word and… well, you don’t want
to know,” Sean said, laughing.

“Bloody Yanks,” the officer said,
letting out a small chuckle. He extended his hand to Sean. “I am Commander
Stuart. This is my executive officer, Lieutenant Commander Chatham, the ranking
officers of this vessel. And you?”

Sean returned his handshake and
made introductions. He then gave a brief description of their journey and how
they had managed to come by the Canadian ship. Commander Stuart leaned in and
listened with skepticism before walking them closer to the bow of the boat,
creating a distance between them and the armed men. Once he was certain he was
out of earshot of his guards, he turned to Sean. “You understand, Chief, we
were expecting Canadians. If we had known you were Americans, we may not have
surfaced.”

“Do you have some aversion to
Americans?” Sean asked.

Stuart smirked. “Yes, of course,”
Stuart said as if remembering a minute detail, “Richardson informed me that you
are not up on current events.”

“Please enlighten me, Sir,” Sean
answered, hiding his frustration.

“For starters, the last American
flagged vessel we approached fired on us…”

Brad shook his head. “Impossible,
why would they fire on you?” he said, stepping forward and making his disagreement
obvious.

“Your government has broken into
factions. My home government is, of course, loyal to your nation’s capital and
President—if he still lives. It seems that makes us an enemy to some, even
though we are not a hostile force. We have to take precautions when approaching
strangers,” Stuart answered.

“Really… well, what are you doing
out here, anyway?” Brad asked.

“Looking for answers; global
communication lines have faltered. We were sent here to search for assistance.
Our home is no better off than yours,” Stuarts said.

“Assistance in this?  What are you
supposed to be bringing back?” Brad mumbled.

Sean raised a hand to silence Brad
and then gave Stuart a concerned look. “What is it you could possibly need from
us?”

“To be blunt, we are looking for
help and stability. There are men within your borders who are not interested in
that,” Stuart said, the infliction in his voice building. He was clearly not
used to being doubted.

Sean smirked. “That still doesn’t
explain who, or why, anyone would fire on you, specifically.”

Stuart frowned and turned to his
executive officer. They briefly exchanged hushed words before turning back to
face Sean and the others. “Very well, please come below with me. I have
something to show you that will help in your understanding.”

Before Sean could respond, Stuart
and his first officer turned and walked past them. The armed men quickly
ushered them to follow. They were escorted toward the sail of the vessel and
through a hatch which led into a smaller space that revealed a ladder to
descend below. Both officers quickly dropped in, followed by an armed guard, and
then Sean was signaled to follow.

Brad watched Sean, then Brooks,
drop into the armored hull of the submarine. Brad hesitated before stepping
forward and placing his boot on the rung of the ladder. As he dropped into the
body of the submarine, he could hear the humming of electronics and machinery. He
ended up in a circular darkened space with grates on the floor. When he began
to look around, more men came down the ladder behind him and forced him forward
to follow the others. He moved through the awkwardly narrow passageway, trying
to catch up with the others. Brad could see that the walls were lined with
stacked containers of food and dry goods. He looked down at the containers
curiously until a sailor pushed him ahead.

“Excuse our mess, we have to fit
food wherever we can on board,” the sailor said as he grinned and motioned him
forward.

“Where do you find it all?” Brad
asked him as he ducked to move though another hatch.

“All over. Mostly aboard dead
vessels we find on the water. The ports are no longer safe.”

“What about the infected on board?”
Brad asked.

The sailor smiled. “We have become
quite good at dealing with them. You would do well to get inside now, I expect
the captain shall be looking for you,” he said as he ushered Brad through
another hatch and closed the door behind him.

The rather cramped room he entered
was brightly lit. There were tables lined against the far end. Comfortable
looking chairs, wood cabinets, and a large TV filled the rest of the space. Brad
saw that Sean and Brooks had already been seated at the table, so he hurried to
find a spot next to them.  As he sat down, an enlisted man poured him a small
cup of tea.

Stuart leaned against a wall while
they were seated. “Welcome to the Officers Wardroom. I’m sure you would rather
have coffee, but this will have to do,” Stuart said and then took a seat across
from Sean.

Sean sipped. “This will be fine. Now
please, what is it you need to show us?” Sean asked, barely hiding his
impatience.

A loud knock at the wardroom door
grabbed everyone’s attention. Chatham, who had not yet been seated, moved to
the door and slowly opened it. Seeing who it was, he pulled the door the
remainder of the way. In walked a confident young man dressed in dark
camouflage with British insignia, followed by a tall older man in a worn United
States flagged flight suit.

CHAPTER 5

He allowed the rifle to hang from
its tactical sling as he used his right hand to stuff his meager belongings
into the rucksack. As he worked, he held the grenade out with his left to keep
the other passengers’ attention. Ella was sitting against the rail watching him
with wide eyes. He could see the onset of fear in her, and he wanted to calm
her but knew he had to stay focused on the threats around him. Shane placed the
last of the blankets into the bag and pulled the drawstring as tightly as he
could.

Shane paused and looked back at the
captain, considering arguing his case one more time. He could see by the look
on the man’s face that pleading would be pointless, though. He lifted the pack
and moved it closer to the rail. “Ella, climb over,” he said to the girl.

She looked up at him with
frightened eyes but still slowly got to her feet. She placed a foot on the rail
and he helped her to the outside. The riverboat only rode a couple feet out of
the water and would make for a very short drop.

Keeping an eye on the passengers,
he hoisted his rucksack over the rail with one arm and told the girl to grab
onto it. “Ella, you don’t let go of this, do you understand? No matter what,
don’t let go.”

She grabbed the bag’s straps and
hugged it tight. She then looked up at him with fear and nodded her head,
showing that she understood.  Shane took the bag and swung it out from the side
of the riverboat, the weight pulling at him, and let it drop. She hit the water
hard and sunk below the surface before popping out and surging into the current.
Shane could see the girl’s head above the surface and her arms still tightly
locked to the straps. Shane took a step onto the rail, still carefully holding
the grenade over the deck. He saw the guards ready their weapons and slowly
edge forward, as if preparing to shoot him the second he hit the water.

Shane stepped over the rail and
looked back at the captain. He frowned then kicked off the railing, tossing the
grenade onto the deck of the riverboat as he sailed back. He hit the water and
turned himself before he broke the surface. He then swam hard with the current
to catch up to his rucksack bobbing in the water nearly a hundred feet ahead.
He saw impacts with the water as the crew fired at him and then heard the clap
of the grenade, followed by shouts and screams. The explosion caused the chaos
he was hoping for and the distraction he needed to create distance. Shane
didn’t want to kill any of them, but he couldn’t allow harm to come to the girl.

He swam hard and lifted his head
often to keep track of the floating pack. The water was colder than he thought
it would be. It chilled his core and made his arms feel heavy. He hoped the
girl would have the strength to hold on. He took long, deep strokes, slowly
gaining on the bag. He watched it roll to the side and caught a glimpse of her
pale skin break the surface of the water. The sight of Ella in the water
energized him and he swam harder. When the bag was just within reach, he
stretched and grabbed at the nylon fabric.

Shane pulled on the bag, rolling it
so that the girl’s upper body came out of the water and rested atop the buoyant
pack. He forced himself into a sitting position with his boots pointed
downstream before he looked up and saw the girl’s face; her hair was wet and
lying across her brow. Although she looked at him calmly, he could see in her
eyes that she was terrified. He reached a hand up and, feeling her clammy skin,
touched her wrist gingerly.

“It’s okay Ella, I’m back,” he
whispered to her as he looked her in the eyes.

Shane then twisted in the water to
look back at the small riverboat and saw the white and black smoke that now
hung over it. He could see it was still anchored and knew they would not be
pursuing them; the crew would be busy working to put the fire out. He also knew
the shots and explosion would draw the infected closer. He and Ella would have
to stay in the water long enough to get away. He shifted the sling around his
torso so that the rifle hung across his back, then used his arms to push them
to the center of the river and into the faster current.

The cold water numbed the pain of
the always present ache in his back, but he could feel the cold take effect on
his limbs as well. Shane looked at Ella. Her head was resting on the bag and he
could see that she was shivering—her lips had turned a light purple. He would
have to get her out of the water soon. He knew he could tolerate the cold
temperature far longer than Ella could. She was frail, skin and bones, and with
the little food they had eaten, the shivering would use up her calories. The
shivering would stop and then she would die.

Shane wanted to get distance on the
riverboat but he couldn’t risk the girl; they needed to leave the water. He
searched the shoreline for an opening in the trees—a place where they could
quickly leave the riverbank, but still find concealment. He wasn’t familiar
with the area. He didn’t know this valley where the river was fast-moving,
wide, and mostly met with banks of sparse forest yet occasionally crossed by a
large highway or rail bridge. A few dead towns, but not much that caught his
attention. Now looking downstream, he saw one side of the river met with dark,
tree-covered hills and the right bank lined with tall wetland grasses.

The forest would provide for better
cover and concealment, but also a means for the infected to get close to him. The
field was more open, but he could use the heat of the sun to warm the girl and
the infected fled from the daylight for unknown reasons. Shane slid his hand to
the girl and felt the cold, soaked jacket clinging to her back.

“Hold on, Ella, we’re gonna get out
of the water, okay?” he whispered to her.

She opened her eyes and looked at
him blankly without lifting her head. “Are we… we... gonna find my Momma,
Shane?” she barely said above the shivers.

Shane looked away toward the bank
then back into her eyes. “Yeah, Ella, we’re going to find your mommy, just hold
on for me.”

As the river turned right into a
bend, Shane held the bag with his left hand and swam hard to the right
shoreline. Trying to break out of the current, he was able to reach the
shallows and plant a boot into the rocky bottom. The current was still too
strong; the swift water made the pack feel hundreds of pounds heavier than it
was, so Shane gave up on trying to pull the bag in. The river bend caused a bit
of a shallow corner made up of stone and gravel, so he pulled the bag close to
him, guided it forward, and kicked hard toward the bank until he felt the
bottom close beneath him.

Shane pressed the toes of his boots
into the gravel bottom and then pressed down to anchor the pack. Carefully, he
lifted the girl to his chest so that her head was on his shoulder. She was
unconscious now, but Shane could feel her breath against his neck. He hoisted
the bag with his left hand and cautiously walked to the river bank. The grassy
ledge over the river was above his shoulders. He dropped the bag next to his
feet and lifted the girl to the high grass before he pushed the bag up beside
her.

He crouched and then jumped into
the bank, grabbing at the tall grass and digging with the toes of his boots,
searching for purchase. His boots knocked away parts of the bank that tumbled
and loudly splashed into the water below. Already committed to the noise, he
continued the scramble. Pushing with his feet and pulling with his arms, he was
finally able to roll onto the high ledge above. Shane fell to his side, belly
crawled to the girl, and put his hand on the cold skin of her neck; she was
still out. He needed to warm her quickly, but they had to move first. He
couldn’t stay in this place where he left the river; he had made too much noise.
On his knees, Shane lifted his head above the high grass. The field stretched
for at least a hundred yards away from the river before it met a blacktop road.
To the left and right he saw nothing but open field for hundreds of yards.

Shane saw a small split in the
grass, the makings of a game trail that ran parallel to the water’s edge.
Looking down the trail, he watched motionlessly. Searching far out, then closer
in, he spotted a muddy human boot print on the path. He looked at it closely. A
heavy work boot with a four-pronged heel, the edges of the imprint had begun to
crumble and showed its age. He could see where objects had blown over it,
possibly leaves. Farther up, the human trail had been crossed by a small animal
track. He relaxed knowing the trail was old, but it was still a trail and could
be used by others; it was time to move.

He swung his rifle back to his
chest then pulled the pack over his shoulders. Carefully, he lifted Ella back
into his arms and patrolled toward the center of the field as he moved forward
to the blacktop road. He moved hastily, but still made an effort to be quiet.
He would hide in plain sight today. The field grass was waist high and it would
make for good concealment while the sun warmed them, but he would have to find
a harder shelter before dark—before the things came out. He began to step
forward then halted and looked down in surprise at another set of prints. It
was the same boot, but headed in the opposite direction. He recognized the
print from the four-pronged heel.

Whatever made these prints had
wandered the field, hunted, and spent an unknown amount of time there. Shane
kneeled down and examined it. Like the others, the edge had crumbled and begun
to dry. It was old, but not days old. Only hours had passed since it was
pressed into the soft mud of the field. Shane shook off the worry and went back
to the task at hand. He continued moving in the direction of the road. When he
found a natural low spot in the field, he pushed away the grass to form a nest
and then dropped his pack. He removed his soaked uniform top and t-shirt before
spreading them out on the tall grass. The air was still chilled, but the sun
warmed his skin. He laid Ella on the jacket and opened his pack before untying
the waterproof drawstring to remove the wool blanket. The heavy material had
picked up some water but, for the most part, was still dry.

Shane folded the blanket in half
and placed Ella on top of it. He then quickly removed her soaked clothing and
draped it over his uniform to dry. When she was stripped down to her shorts he
lifted her to his bare chest and then tightly wrapped the blanket around the
both of them to trap in the body heat the girl desperately needed. Shane lay
back against his pack and looked up at the sun. Feeling the heat of it on his
face, he prayed that he had done enough to save the girl. As the adrenalin left
his body, exhaustion took hold of him. When he felt the warmth returning to her
cheek as it pressed against his shoulder, he relaxed but kept his arms wrapped
snugly around the girl. He cupped the back of her head with his hand, breathed
deeply, and closed his eyes. He just needed to rest… only for a minute.

CHAPTER 6

The man bedecked in dark camouflage
walked across the wardroom, ignoring the seated strangers. He opened a cupboard,
quickly scanned the contents, and retrieved a small tin of biscuits. He leaned
back against a bulkhead and pried open the tin. A second man dressed in a
flight suit timidly entered the room a few seconds later and, appearing unsure
of himself, stepped to the table to stand looking at the Americans.

His flight suit was adorned with an
American flag patch on the shoulder. Insignia that Brad didn’t recognize was in
gold over the name ‘HOWARD’ on a black badge pinned to the man’s chest. Stuart
looked up at the man nonchalantly and said, “Please have a seat, Doctor
Howard.”

Stuart paused to sip his tea before
addressing Brad’s team. “You’ll have to excuse our friend. We just recently
pulled him from the drink. He’s still a bit soggy, I suppose.”

The man in the flight suit gave
Stuart an uneasy look and then took a seat at the far side of the table across
from Brad and the others.

Sean looked Howard over. “Doctor
Howard, is it?  I assume you’re an American by the flag on your shoulder.”

Howard raised his head to look at
Sean. “Well yes… of course I’m American. I am a doctor for Christ sakes… with
the United States.” Howard scowled. “I’m with the Public Health Services. I
demand to know why these people are detaining me!” Howard shouted.

Howard’s sudden outburst caused the
camo man to set down his tin and walk closer to Howard’s side. He spoke softly
in a thick English accent. “Now, c’mon mate, what’d we discuss about yer
temper?”

Howard looked over his shoulder at
the camo man, then back at Sean. “Can you do anything to get me out of here?
These men have been keeping me prisoner!”

Sean looked at the camo man in the
face. “Special Boat Service?” he asked.

The man smiled and shook his head.
“Close, mate; Lieutenant Meyers, Reconnaissance Regiment,” he answered.

Sean returned the smile and nodded.
“I see… so Meyers, why is it you’re detaining my friend?” Sean asked, ignoring
the others in the room.

Stuart laughed at the question. “We
aren’t detaining anyone. We responded to this gentleman’s distress call. If we
hadn’t pulled him out of the water when we did, he’d most likely be dead by now.
“

Howard leaned forward and slammed
his closed fist on the table. “Listen to me, you fools, we are wasting time. You
have to get me back!” Howard yelled.

The sudden movement caused Meyers
to drop a heavy hand onto Howard’s shoulder. He looked to Stuart for a sign. Stuart
shook his head. “No, allow the doctor to stay. I’m sure he can behave
himself.”

Meyers smiled, squeezed the
doctor’s shoulder before slapping him on the back, then walked back to the tin
of biscuits and pretended to ignore the conversation.

Stuart cleared his throat, causing
the doctor to lift his head and look back at the men now staring at him.
Chatham poured a glass of water from a pitcher on the table and then placed the
glass in front of the Howard. Without speaking, Howard lifted the glass and
gulped down the liquid. “We don’t have a lot of time. The sample could already
be lost, or degraded,” he mumbled as he tapped the rim of the glass to signal
Chatham to refill it.

Sean shot Howard a puzzled look.
“The ‘sample’?”

“Yes, the damn sample! Every minute
we wait, we risk its degradation or loss. We shouldn’t be here chatting, we
should be headed back.”

Stuart lifted a battered tan
leather bag and removed a heavy folder which he slid across the table to Doctor
Howard. “Maybe if you caught our friends up from the beginning, they would be
more receptive?”

Howard shook his head. “I have
already explained all of this!”

Sean looked at the folder. Stapled
to the cover was a white sheet of 8x11 paper with ‘CDC’ printed on it in bold
blue letters. “Please, Doctor, humor us. We are extremely interested.”

Howard grunted. He opened the
folder and flipped through sheathes of paper before removing a large color
photograph. It was an image of a limb with an open wound. Howard looked at the
picture intensely then slid it across the table to Sean. “What do you see?” he
asked.

Sean took the photo and held it up
to look at it before he showed it to both Brad and Brooks. Brooks reached for
the photo and examined it closer. He slid the photo back to Howard. “Looks like
a grade A Primal bite.”

Howard nodded. “Primalis Rabia,
yes, of course, a Primal. It cannot be confirmed, but we do believe the patient
was bitten by an infected individual, a… Primal as you put it. Now, what else
do you see?” Howard said as he slid the photo back.

“The wound is clean, probably a
child—possibly a small female… wait… there are no signs of infection here, but
this here,” Brooks said, circling the wound with his finger, “superficial
bruising around the injury. This can’t be a Primal bite even though those are
human teeth marks. How old was the injury?” Brooks asked, looking confused.

“Yes, finally! Are you a medical
professional?” Howard asked, showing more enthusiasm.

Brooks shook his head. “Only in the
‘field experience’ sense, but I have treated… I mean, I have come in to contact
with the… recently infected.”

Howard began to look excited as he
flipped another page and pulled another photo which he lifted and slid across
to Brooks. “Now look at this; same patient, nearly forty-eight hours later.”

Brooks lifted the photo.
“Impossible, the wound. It’s… it’s healing! This couldn’t have been a Primal
bite.”

“Yes, it is healing. It certainly
should not be a Primal bite. The prognosis is six hours, ten at best, but there’s
more. Look at this,” Howard said. His excitement was growing as he hastily
searched and then pulled medical reports from the stacked papers. He laid them
down in front of Brooks and pointed. “See? The patient’s blood tested positive
for the virus. Then later tests indicate that the patient is showing signs of
effective antibodies, and then… see here? The virus is gone.”

Brooks stared at the reports.
“How?”

Howard smiled. “Exactly, how?
That’s what we need to decipher. Of course all of this is very simplified, but
we hold three concise facts that need to be examined further. The patient was
attacked, the patient’s blood was positive for Primalis Rabia, and then the
patient was clean.”

Brooks pulled the lab results from
Howard’s hand and examined them closely. “I don’t understand. The patient
recovered from acute signs of the infection? This is impossible. What was the
treatment?”

“There is no treatment; the patient
was given minimal care for pain management. Most of the patient records are
missing and all that is noted is that the patient’s other family members failed
to fight the infection. More likely, they didn’t survive initial contact with
the virus.”

“Has this happened before?” Brooks
asked.

Howard shook his head. “No, this is
the first ever reported incident of a spontaneous recovery of the Primalis
Rabia infection. Now, you must understand this could have been possible before
but many patients, especially the weak such as the child in the photo, do not
survive the initial attack. That’s also what makes the vector so virulent. Only
the strongest among us tend to survive the initial transmission of the virus. So
it is the strongest among us who then become the carriers.”

Brooks, looking more excited, said,
“Who is it? The patient.”

“She, the patient is a she. Her
family was attacked near Atlanta—attacked very badly. The father was able to
fight them off and break away. He was fortunate enough to get the child past
the barriers and to a FEMA center, one of the few that still accepted walking
wounded for treatment, but mostly for study. The mother… she was a loss. A
shame, she may have shared the child’s trait because the father certainly did
not.”

“What about the father?” Brooks
asked.

“The FEMA camp allowed them in but
put them under quarantine and took blood samples, of course. The father quickly
succumbed to the infection and was put down. But the girl, she never turned.”

Sean put up his hands. “Okay,
enough. What does all of this mean?”

Howard looked, gleaming at Sean,
but Brooks spoke first. “It means this girl could hold the cure.”

Howard chuckled. “Not exactly, but
it could at least be a treatment, or maybe the starting point for a vaccine!”

“Well, where is she then?” Brad
asked, speaking for the first time.

Howard put his head down and looked
at the papers in his hands. Stuart coughed, causing the others to look at him. “Well,
Doctor, go ahead. Explain to the gentleman where your patient is currently
residing.”

“Fort Collins, a small base. Technically,
it’s a National Guard Armory on the Carolina coastline. It’s of little
importance to anyone—”

Stuart clapped his hands,
interrupting Howard mid-sentence, and then extended his neck to emphasize his
point. “And, Doctor, why is it you are not at Fort Collins with your precious sample?”

Howard sighed. “We did the best we
could. One of our reaction teams had initially secured the patient from the
FEMA camp, but no air transport was available. They attempted to reach Fort Bragg
and had to divert to the coast after they encountered heavy buildups of
infected populations. Our first contact with them was after they reached Fort
Collins, one of the last remaining hard sites in the region. They were able to
get a transmission through to us using the Armory’s secured networks,” Howard
said, holding up the folder.

“We lost contact with Collins
shortly after receiving the patient’s file. My team was scrambled and, even
using our longest range helicopter, by the time we reached Collins we were
flying in on fumes. We could see from the air that the compound was lost. We
circled and tried to find a safe landing zone, but the infected were heavily
massed in all directions. There were signs of survivors and some sporadic
vehicle traffic, so we tried to fly low and signal anyone alive on the ground…
but it just drew in more infected.

“Our intent was to refuel at
Collins for the return trip. With that scratched, we had no place to land that
was clear of infected. They’re drawn to helicopters, so every LZ we attempted
was swarmed over before we got close. We ran to the sea—“

“We found your friend, here,
bobbing in a life raft fifteen miles off the coast,” Stuart said.

Sean pushed away from the table and
stood. “This is a lost cause. If the Fort was overrun, then why did you bring
us here?  And Doctor, if this trip was so goddamned important, then why didn’t
they send another bird after you dropped off the radar?”

Howard stood with him. “I don’t
know why they didn’t send another team. Maybe they did. Don’t you understand?
There could still be samples in the medical facility!  We have to try!”

Stuart raised his hands. “Please
sit,” he said in a calm voice. “Chief, you asked earlier what we were doing out
here. Communications between our nations went quiet nearly a month ago. Things
at home are pretty grim, there is no cure in sight, and most of our population
is held up behind walls the same as yours is.

“This is why we are here. We’re
looking for something—anything—that can help. Now, Chief, why are you
here?  What are you and your men willing to do to help end this?” Stuart
finished.

CHAPTER 7

Shane opened his eyes and looked up
at the sun still high above him. He put his head back against the pack. Keeping
his eyes open, he strained his ears for any sounds of threats. If he stretched
his neck, he could just see over the tips of the grass. A breeze was coming
from the road and blowing toward him. It made the grass move in subtle waves
and when the edges of the grass touched, it made a light whisking sound. Growing
up hunting, he could pick up on the subtle differences in sounds between that
of wild game and Mother Nature; the cracking of a twig or the rustle of dried
leaves that could indicate a small deer or rabbit. Today the sound of a gentle
breeze through the meadow was soothing. He allowed himself to lower his guard
and settle back into the hide.

The girl was moving now; Shane
could feel her squirm against his skin. He would allow her to sleep a bit
longer since she needed her rest. Ella asked about her mom the last time he
spoke to her. It’d been a while since she’d mentioned her mother. He could tell
by the look in her eyes when she asked the question that she thought of her
mother constantly. The toll the grief and travel took on the child was
beginning to show. She was losing weight and rarely slept soundly at night. It’d
been so long since he could provide her a secure place.

Shane watched the grass and thought
about the night the fort fell; the night before he found her. He didn’t know
how the creatures had gotten inside. Maybe they just became too much for the
iron gates to hold back. Maybe a wound had been overlooked on one of the guards.
The firing came loud and rapidly, shattering the night. It could be heard over
the screaming of the civilians and over the moans of the things pushing their
way through the fences.

Shane was sleeping on the floor of
the tower when it started. He was used to gunfire—it had become common in the
fort over the last month—but what Shane heard from outside the tower that night
was something different. The gunfire was sporadic and rapid. Panicked, the
screaming of the soldiers jolted him awake. He was in the darkened center of
the guard tower where his team had been living. He thought it was another bad dream,
but the sounds of fighting came through the walls and the bright lights broke
in through heavy tarps they’d hung over the windows.

He reached for his rifle and
scrambled to the outer catwalk of the hastily erected tower in the corner of
the fort. Flares were being launched, supplementing the bright generator-powered
spotlights. Heavy machine guns and the crack of grenades joined the concert of
noise. He could see the things mixed in with the crowds, the bloodied and
screaming men swarming the guards at the gate. Soldiers ran in all directions,
firing into the massed mob. Shane saw his own two man team standing in shock,
their backs pressed against the tower, rifles resting in their shaking hands. He
ordered them to fire.

“What are we shooting at?” a
private stuttered.

Shane looked at the chaos before he
was able to comprehend the soldier’s question. There were no clear targets.  Screaming,
raging people mixed in with panicked civilians were running through gaps in the
fences, mauling and overpowering the guards. Some soldiers had taken up
positions on the roofs of buildings. Others stood on top of vehicles while
frantically trying to shoot into the crowds to stop the flood of infected. A
Humvee was racing through the compound and bouncing the infected off of its
heavy steel brush guards. A gunner in the Humvee’s turret was firing rapidly to
cut down paths of the crazed men that were fighting to get at the vehicle.

“If they aren’t holding a rifle,
kill them,” Shane yelled.

Shane raised his own weapon and
stepped to the rail. He fired steadily, trying to make every round count. He
heard his men join the fight alongside him but when he observed the battle on
the ground he knew the camp was lost. Too many had gotten inside. From his
elevated position he could see the front gate that he himself had walked
through weeks ago. It was open and the sand bag barriers tumbled over. The armory
building was still secured but the things were pressed against the doors. Windows
had been shattered and the things were trying to get inside. The compound’s
outer walls were still standing, but the grounds were covered with infected. It
was hopeless.

He realized too late that he should
have been thinking about escape and leading his men out of the tower. They were
all around him—the tower was surrounded, his own team’s gunfire had drawn them
in. Shane looked down and saw the things trying to climb the tower walls. As
more of them pressed against the tower, it began to shudder and shake under his
feet. The gunfire from other parts of the camp had slowed. Shane saw the Humvee
had finally been overwhelmed and was resting against a wall of the armory.
Shane smiled; he knew there would be no retreat, no escape. This was it, his
pain would end tonight. He looked to the privates standing with him. “If you
want to make a break… now is the time, guys. I won’t fault you for it. I’ll
cover you,” he said to them.

The men had talked about what they
would do in this situation, how they would escape. Sliding down to the far side
of the wall had always been the least desirable choice. The tower stood in a
corner of the compound; it was thirty feet up and a hell of a drop, but the
privates had decided to risk the drop and attempt to jump to the far side of
the fence. So far, the back corner of the compound’s outside lawn was clear.
They would have a long run if they made it to the ground, but with Shane
providing cover fire, there was a chance they could make it to the tree line.

Every soldier at the fort was
issued a grenade. It was an inside joke that the grenades were to be used on
themselves to make sure they wouldn’t turn, but now Shane would use them to
help his men escape. They passed him their grenades and Shane wished them luck.
A heavy rope was tied to the rail and they threw it over a portion of the
catwalk that hung slightly beyond the perimeter wall. The first private quickly
slid down the rope to the open ground on the far side of the fence. The things
on the ground quickly caught onto what they were doing. The last soldier
stepped over the rail and asked Shane to join them. He shook his head and told
the man to go. Some of the infected ran directly at the fence trying to get to
the private sliding down the rope to the far side. Others ran for the gate,
trying to circle around, but the majority of the infected continued to push and
heave against the tower.

The ones running to the gate became
Shane’s priority. He pulled the pin on the first grenade and threw it as hard
as he could at the breach in the gate. The grenade landed in a mass of them and
the explosion launched the bodies like a popped balloon while ripping body
parts away to be scattered on the ground. The explosion had disoriented them,
yet drew others to the loud blast. Shane pulled the pin on the second grenade
and aimed for a new mass forming farther away. The grenade fell short but still
rolled into the group. The blast had the same effect, knocking the things off
their feet and tearing others apart. He saw them turn their hate filled eyes in
his direction, suddenly forgetting about his men running across the open field.

Just below him, a tall male covered
in blood and tattoos and naked to the waist, looked Shane in the eyes and
screamed at him. Shane paused his firing as he saw what was happening; the
other infected stopped, turned to look at the screaming man, then focused on
the tower and ran at it. Shane stared back at the man in surprise. He was
calling the others.

“They are fucking crazed!”
Shane said out loud, still holding his fire.

Shane looked over his shoulder, saw
that his men had made the tree line, then lifted his M4 and aimed at the
screaming man. “Say good night!” he yelled as he pulled the trigger and put an
aimed round into the tattoo-covered man’s face, silencing him forever.

He shifted his point of aim,
killing more of the screaming beasts until his rifle was dry. He reloaded, took
his time, and placed carefully aimed shots into the tops of the heads of the
creatures below him, regardless of how futile it seemed. Knowing each skillfully
placed shot put one of them out of its misery, he continued firing until he was
out of ammo and no more magazines hung from his vest. The tower again buckled
hard under his feet and he fell toward the rail. He barely caught himself
before nearly falling into the mass below. Another impact of the tower threw
him away from the rail and back toward the enclosed space.

The door of the enclosure was
swinging open. Shane ran for it, but a shudder of the tower caused him to lose
his footing. He fell as he cleared the opening and rolled to the floor inside. He
quickly got back to his feet and leaned against the far wall. Shane could hear
the wood supports of the tower creaking as the heavy pine beams began to split.
He pulled his own personal grenade from the pouch located on his belt, kissed
it, and looked up at the ceiling of the small room.

“See you soon, Brothers,” he said
aloud as he reached to pull the pin.

A thunderous crack exploded in his
ears, followed by the floor dropping from beneath his feet. The grenade slipped
from his hand when he bounced off the ceiling of the enclosure. He saw white
flashes of light and felt searing pain in his face while the tower toppled and
he, again, smacked his face against a wall, then the floor. The tower crashed against
the perimeter fence, halting the structure’s fall. The sudden stop again
tossing Shane into the now splintered and crumbling walls. The roof of the
enclosure collapsed on top of him and trapped him in the wreckage. His head was
spinning; his vision closing, blackness filling his sight. He struggled to free
himself as the last of his strength left his body. The sounds of the screaming
beasts softened and everything was suddenly quiet and peaceful. Shane allowed
himself to relax giving into temptation to rest. It was over. He was done.

“Shane,” he heard a voice call
softly.

He heard more of them calling his
name… calling him home. He squinted hard and struggled to open his eyes. He
wanted to see the light.

****

The unmistakable sounds of a low
flying helicopter woke him. He heard the screaming of the mob fade as they lost
interest in the fort and chased after the sound of the aircraft. Pain seared
through his injured back, his face had swollen, and his eyes were hard to open.
Shane twisted and contorted his body, pushing against the wreckage until he was
free. He pulled at the edge of a broken board and was suddenly sliding fast. He
lost grip on the board, tumbled to the ground, and landed flat on his back,
yelping in agony.

Shane rolled to his side and lay
motionless, trying to breathe quietly, surprised he hadn’t already been
attacked. Bodies lay all around him on the ground. The sun was breaking the
horizon and the orange glow of morning lit the camp. He squinted his eyes and
focused on his surroundings. The armory doors were now broken and hung twisted
on their hinges. As he slowly turned his head to look at the grounds, he found
nothing still on its feet. Most of the active infected had already gone to
shelter during the day, or were led away by the unknown helicopter.

Shane twisted and pushed himself
into a seated position. He saw his rifle on the ground near him. He crawled
towards the M4, picked it up, and used it as a crutch to push himself to his
feet. He stood in a crouched position—standing upright caused more pain in his
back. Shane thought of the open gate and about making a run for the tree line,
where maybe he could find his men from last night. No, he reasoned, he wouldn’t
get far in his condition. His rifle was empty and he needed to treat his
injuries. His eyes drifted to the armory. He knew there could be more infected
hiding inside, but there was also a small arms room and an expansive aid
station in the back office spaces. There would be pain meds and food.

He stood for a moment longer,
listening, trying to slow his breathing to sharpen his senses. His head slowly
rotated from left to right scanning everything. When he made a full movement,
he started again, this time looking farther out. The fort had been destroyed. Wreckage
and bodies were everywhere, but to his good fortune there were no signs of the
standing infected; although he could still hear them in the distance.

Shane had picked up on their tones
over the last few weeks in the tower. Like the beagles he used to hunt with as
a boy growing up in Georgia, when these things were on the hunt for prey, their
moan would change pitch and he could tell they were on a trail. The moan they
used was to call others in the pack to join them. He shook his head as he
recognized the animal instincts of the things were not unlike the stories of
humans turning into werewolves. Things that had been office workers and store
clerks were now mindless beasts on the hunt for meat.

They must be tracking other
survivors from the fort, he thought. Shane had heard stories of the things
moving into small towns, completely sacking it, and then tracking any of those
lucky enough to escape on and into the next city. He knew he needed to move,
get on the trail before they captured whatever they were after and began
searching again. He needed to take advantage of the daylight when the packs
tended to lay low and return to whatever dens the monsters called home.

He moved closer to the doorway of
the armory and pressed his shoulder to the wall, letting it take some of the
weight off of his aching back. Shane pondered going to his small living area at
the back of the fort. He had a pack there and some meager belongings. But that
would take him too far into the fort and he needed to move quickly and leave,
to get away from this place before they returned. He leaned his body so that he
could see down the long hallway to the open bay at the end. That was where the
treatment areas were, as well as stores of food and ammunition. That
immediately became his goal—to re-equip for the trail. Shane checked the watch
on his wrist. He would give himself ten minutes to gather what he needed then
get out.

Listening at the doorway, he heard
nothing. Shane moved his hand to the back of his hip and felt the cold handle
of his M9 Bayonet. He used his thumb to unsnap the small retainer strap and
pulled the weapon from its sheath. As quietly as possible, he secured the blade
to the small lug at the end of his rifle. Taking a deep breath, he let his body
absorb the pain, stood upright, and pivoted into the hallway. No time for
second guessing, he moved quickly and deliberately while sweeping the rifle in
front of him, ready to lunge at any enemy.

He saw an armed man dead on the
ground. Shane walked just past him then knelt down. With the expertise of a
veteran soldier, he reached with his left hand and removed the magazine from
the man’s weapon. Without dropping his gaze from down the hall, he lifted the
box magazine to his eye. It was empty. Shane knelt lower and let his left hand
search the sticky uniform of the man until he found his magazine pouches, then
he felt the man’s chest and located his unused grenade. Shane lifted it and
attached it to the front of his own vest.  Without losing focus, he raised
himself back up and continued down the hallway. Shane encountered more bodies
but, knowing he had to move quickly and get out of the building, passed over
them unless they were obviously armed. As he approached the open bay, he’d
still failed to acquire any ammo.

Shane moved into the bay, pivoting
as he moved toward the far corner where he knew the supplies were kept. The
floor in the area had less bodies, but the space had still been turned over
with obvious signs of battle. He inched between two pallets of food boxes and
crept toward a hasty stack of ammo cans. Scattered all around them were the
green cloth bandoleers and speed loaders normally packaged with military ammo. His
heartbeat began to quicken as he realized all of the cans were empty. The
defenders had expended all of it in their fight.

He dropped his head and exhaled,
moving back toward the food pallets. He heard a metallic crunch under his boot
and froze. Shane let his right arm drift to his boot and grinned when he felt
the loose pile of rounds. He pulled off his patrol cap and set it on the floor
next to him, then slowly swept his hand along the floor to gather the rounds. When
he finished, he looked at his watch; he only had a few minutes before his
deadline. He looked into the cap and saw he had gathered less than 20 rounds. It
would have to do.

Shane shifted his focus onto the
food stores. He used the end of his bayonet to cut away at the shrink wrap, and
as he reached into the ripped plastic, he heard a muffled whimper and froze.
Holding his breath and listening intently, he heard the whimper again. It was a
child’s voice. Shane rose up between the pallets and searched the walls. One of
the medical doors was barricaded shut. A number of black-clad guards lay dead
on the ground in front of the barrier.

The medical room had a large wooden
door which someone had braced with boards and placed a heavy steel bar across. Bits
of skin, fingernails, and claw marks covered the entrance. Shane focused on the
door and edged closer. The whimper got louder as Shane’s head was silhouetted
over the single window in the door. A small, shattered wire-reinforced window
covered with blood was embedded high in the door. Shane lifted his arm and used
his sleeve to wipe away the sticky residue, then pressed his eye to the window.
What he saw caused his knees to go weak and a pain grip his stomach. Inside the
room, sitting on a hospital bed, was a young girl.

CHAPTER 8

“So why do you need us? You seem to
have a boat full of able seaman,” Shawn said grinning.

“Aye, that we do but we’re just a
bit shy of shooters on board,” Meyers answered without allowing Stuart to
speak.

Sean folded his hands together then
let out a long sigh. “Okay, we’ve listened to your story. What’s the plan?”
Sean asked, looking over the printed pages in the folder.

Howard looked at Sean, confused.
“The plan? What’s the plan? Do you still not understand the importance of this?
We need to get to the fort! There may be samples, something… anything we can
use.”

“Ugh, this again?” Meyers grunted.
“You’re awful confident about these samples. How do you know they exist?  That
this won’t be a lost cause that gets all of us killed.”

Howard reached across the table and
pulled the folder back from Sean. He flipped through pages and laid them out in
front of him. “These are lab reports. The men that risked their lives to get
these wouldn’t have destroyed them. And these things… these Primals,
they would have no interest in samples. Even if they are lost, we have to
recover the patient’s body,” Howard shouted, showing his frustration.

Brooks nodded and leaned forward in
his seat. “I’m in.”

Sean put his hand up. “Now hold on
a minute, we don’t know enough to commit to anything. Hell, we don’t even know
who this doctor works for.”

“Doesn’t matter, Chief, this is
bigger than all of us. If there’s a chance of a breakthrough, I’m going,”
Brooks said, pushing away from the table and getting to his feet. “I understand
the rest of you having doubts, and I don’t expect any of you to go along.”

Brad looked down at the table but
for the moment held his silence.

Meyers laughed. “Well, well, look
at this; we got one brave Yank joining the team. How’s about we get two?  Three
maybe.”

Sean gave Meyers a smug look that
quickly silenced him. “I tell you what, left-ten-ant,” he said, exaggerating
the accent reciting Meyers’ rank. “You give me detailed plans and supplies,
I’ll pull a squad together for you. But… the doctor here is going to answer a
few more questions about the people he works for.”

“Easily done, Chief,” Meyers said.
“Time is of importance though; I suggest you begin readying your party as soon
as possible.”

“Nothing to worry about,” Sean said,
looking back at his men. “Brooks, partner up with the doctor here. I want to
know everything about this place he comes from and this kid, and what it will
take to recover these samples. Commander, could you please transport my sergeant
back to our vessel so that he may prepare our team while your left-ten-ant
briefs me in.”

Stuart stood and walked to the door
with Chatham close in tow. “I’ll make arrangements for transport and we will
send someone for your man when ready. I’ll leave you alone with Mr. Meyers here
to strategize.” With that, he left the room and Chatham closed the door behind
them.

“Okay, Meyers, let’s cut the
bullshit. What are we looking at here?” Sean said, walking around the table to
stand next to Meyers.

“It’s ugly, mate. I don’t see how
we can reach the fort from the near coast.” Meyers stopped speaking, reached
into a cargo pocket on his left leg, and unfolded a large military map.
“Collins is here, inland between the coast and this large river. All these
coastal areas are pockmarked with activity. But here,”—he pointed to an area
far south of the fort—“in this harbor, is an island base. We have picked up
radio traffic, pings for help and that sort of thing, so it seems to be a
friendly safe haven.”

Brooks looked closely at the map
and grinned. “You’re joking. You do know what that is, don’t you? You want us
to go to Fort Sumter?”

“It’s logical, mate. It’s located
in the harbor and clear of infected. From radio traffic, we know that it is
occupied. If we get there, we can attempt to secure transport up river and get closer
to Collins.”

“You want to take a British
submarine up Charleston Harbor?” Brooks asked.

“No, mate. The Skipper won’t risk
bringing the boat that close; that’s why we stopped you, we need that little
Canadian tug you been cruising on.”

“Ahh… and the truth suddenly
reveals itself,” Sean said sarcastically.

Meyers shrugged and slapped Sean on
the shoulder. “Of course, but my excitement of finding out there were Yankee grunts
on board is quite authentic.”

There was a loud knock at the door
and a young sailor cracked it, sticking in his head. “Pardon me, the raft is
ready,” the young man said.

Sean turned to look at Brad who had
been standing quietly with an uncommitted look on his face. “Brad, I need you
to tell Gunner to ready the group to move ashore. For now, just give him the
location. No need to reveal the mission yet, I’ll do that later. I don’t want
shit going south before it starts.”

“Anything else?” Brad asked
nonchalantly, but showing obvious relief that he wouldn’t have to tell the rest
of the team they had been signed up to go into Primal territory.

“No, not yet. I’m going to try to
squeeze some ammo and food out of our new friends here,” Sean said, returning
the slap to Meyers’ shoulder. “I will see you tonight.”

“Roger that,” Brad said without
emotion as he turned to join the sailor in the hallway. When Brad moved through
the hatch, the sailor quickly closed it behind him.

“Just this way, Sir,” the sailor
said.

Brad nodded. “Lead the way, I’m
ready to get the hell out of here,” he grunted.

“Tense meeting that must be. The captain
has been barking orders since he left the wardroom. You must have had some good
things to talk about.”

Brad picked up on the change of
temperament with the escort from when they first boarded the submarine. He also
noticed that this sailor wasn’t armed as the others had been. “What happened to
your rifle, mate?” Brad asked, being as direct as he could afford.

The sailor froze in his tracks and
turned to look back at Brad. “Do I need it?” he asked with a frightened look.

“What? No, it was just that earlier,
all the guards were armed and now I don’t see any,” Brad said.

“Oh, that, no… the captain stood us
down. We were at general quarters till we figured out who you all were. You
know pirates are operating out there.” The sailor walked back to the spot on
the passageway where the ladder led to the sail. “Just this way, sir, we’ll be
outside in a moment.”

Brad stepped into the well and
climbed the ladder up to another small space where he traveled through an open
hatch and out onto the deck. There were noticeably less people outside now. Three
sailors he recognized from earlier were positioned by the webbed ladder that
led to the raft and a couple more were farther away, near the bow. Brad looked
out and was surprised to see how late it had gotten; the sun was nearly setting
over the water far to the west.

He heard his escort walk up behind
him. “You ready to go, sir? We can board anytime.”

“Please, call me Brad. Or Sergeant
if you have to,” Brad said.

“Oh, yes… of course, Brad, no
offense intended. You can call me Ian.”

“Nice to meet you, Ian,” Brad said
with a forced smile. “It’s fine. I’m just ready to get back to my team.”

The sailor yelled to the other men
near the raft. They quickly scaled the net ladder and boarded the small boat,
then turned to assist Brad and the other sailor. This time, Brad was offered a
plank seat near the rear of the boat. Brad looked out over the water and saw
the Coast Guard ship. He could see some of his team standing against the rail
and watching him with binoculars.

“How long you boys been out here?”
Brad asked without taking his eyes off the distant Coast Guard boat.

Ian stepped across the raft and
settled in across from Brad while the other men tossed lines and pushed away
from the submarine. “Out here? We haven’t been home since it started… if that
was your meaning,” Ian answered.

“That’s a long time to be away from
home. I’ve been on the run since my convoy was ambushed weeks... months… hell,
I kinda lost track.  Haven’t had a break either.”

“Yeah… time doesn’t matter as much
anymore does it?” Ian said thoughtfully.

Ian reached into his pocket and
offered Brad a cigarette. Brad shook his head. Ian let out a small chuckle. “I
know... these’ll kill me, right? All the bastards out there that quit? Look at
them now.”

The raft’s small outboard motor
came to life. The pilot revved the engine and steered toward the surface ship.
Ian took a long drag on the cigarette and looked at Brad. “My Mum enjoys a good
smoke.” He paused and shook his head, like he hadn’t had the thought in a long
time. Ian continued speaking while looking out over the side, toward the
setting sun. “We was on combat patrol in the Barents Sea when it started. This
thing—whatever it is—it had been burning for three weeks before we broke radio
silence and was informed. The skipper raced us back to port against orders… the
time we arrived it was gone. Nobody came to the pier to meet us; everything,
just gone.

“We tried to reach others. There
were a few surface ships about, most with infected aboard, but we found and
paired with a Norwegian destroyer for a couple weeks. But this is a nuke boat. We
can run for twenty-five years before refueling. Most things we run into don’t
have that capability. We helped the Nords anchor safely offshore then parted
ways.”

“You ever hear from them?” Brad
asked.

“Not sure… radio traffic isn’t
shared with us peons,” Ian said with a low laugh. “Likely they are still out
there. I’d like to think so. Captain promised to return for them one day.”

Brad looked down and out at the
water. “I’ve made the same promises.”

The engine’s speed was cut and
idled. Brad looked up and saw they were slowly drifting into the Coast Guard
ship. He saw Parker run to the rail and throw a rope to one of the sailors
sitting in the front of the raft. Working together, the raft was pulled in
close to the dive deck. Brad got to his feet and was quickly pulled aboard by
Parker.

“Good to have you back, Sergeant.
Where are the others?” Parker asked as Joey and Chelsea climbed down the ladder
to greet him.

Brad stopped and looked around
without answering.

“Where’s Gunner?” Brad asked.

Chelsea moved between Joey and
Parker, stopping at Brad’s side. “Everything okay, Brad?”

Ignoring her question, Brad looked
over his shoulder at the other sailors. They were still on the raft. “You
coming aboard, Ian?”

“Sorry, mate; got my orders. The
others will be staying over with ya tonight. Nice meeting you, Brad,” Ian said
as the engine revved up and the raft raced back toward the submarine in the
fading light.

CHAPTER 9

“Shane,” Ella mumbled, pushing at
the tight blanket. He woke with a start and almost knocked Ella to the ground
as he reached for his rifle. He paused and looked up at the orange sky.

No, he thought. They had
slept through the day. The exhaustion from the days of travel and the cold of
the river had been hard on him, but they couldn’t be in the open after dark.

The soldier shushed the girl with a
finger to his lips then crossed his arms in front of him. Ella understood the
signal, and she’d been a good student after spending days with him on the trail.
She stopped and lowered herself to the ground to sit on her heels motionless. Shane
reached out and felt her light tank top. It was nearly dry and still warm from
the huddled body heat. He lifted her clothing that he had draped on top of his
bag and quickly dressed her.

He hurriedly dressed himself and
stuffed the blanket into his pack. He pushed a fist through a strap and tightly
fastened the bag to his back. Shane stood high on his knees like a prairie dog
and looked in all directions. They were losing the light and he cursed himself
again for the mistake. They needed to find cover soon. The things would be
moving—they may already be out and on the hunt. He knew sundown was when they
had always arrived at the fort and by nightfall, their numbers were always at
the max, howling and throwing themselves at the walls.

Shane looked left and right. He saw
the blacktop of the road in the distance; it was paved so it would likely hold
structures, but structures also attracted the infected. Beyond the road was a
thick wooded area. It could provide shelter but, again, it was a likely hiding
place for the beasts. There was no time to debate; path of least resistance,
he thought. He swooped his right hand down toward the ground and to his side. Ella
quietly got to her feet and moved next to him. As she stood, she grabbed the
back of his belt. Shane turned back and ruffled the hair on the girl’s head. He
knew he was pushing her hard, but she didn’t complain. She responded by hugging
his hip and pulling at his belt, signaling she was ready. Shane stepped off;
they needed to move.

It was important to balance his
movements with the tactical situation. The sun was falling and he didn’t know
where he was, so he had to assume they were in the middle of an infested area.
He couldn’t move too quickly. They would make too much noise, and one thing he
knew for certain was that the things were drawn to human sounds. Shane stepped
quickly enough but not so fast that the girl had to struggle to keep up. Occasionally
he stopped to allow her to rest as he dropped low in the grass and looked in
all directions.

They reached a small trail that ran
parallel to the road. Shane checked it for markings and, finding none, he
turned and headed south. They moved quicker now; out of the grass he could step
more swiftly and still remain silent. The sun was dropping fast and he would
have to make a decision soon. There was a hill ahead. If he didn’t find shelter
after summiting the small rise, he would have to break for the forest and find
a high tree to hide in. As if telling him to hurry, he heard a faint howl in
the distance.

Shane froze, dropped to his knee
instinctively, and brought up his rifle. They were awake. He had to get out of
the open. He dropped low and brought out both arms without speaking. Again Ella
understood the non-verbal instruction and pulled herself onto his pack. Lying
across the top of his bag, she pushed her legs over his right shoulder and then
lowered her arms grabbing at his left arm to put herself in a fireman’s carry. Shane
reached up and patted her leg, then got to his feet. He moved out with much
greater speed now, trying to conceal the building panic he was feeling. His
back burned as the pain of his old injury returned.

He heard the howl again. Shane
ignored the pain and tried to jog. He knew it would make him less aware of his
surroundings, but they were in the area and he had to move. As he cleared the
top of the hill, he paused just long enough to look in all directions. To his
right, he could see where the woods stretched toward the road and almost touched
it. He scanned to the left and paused, near the river stood a small house. The
girl squirmed, he knew she was uncomfortable but it couldn’t be helped.

More howling, this time from the
woods, made the decision easy; he turned and began jogging toward the house. He
was back in the field, he knew he was making noise but the situation had
changed. He would now trade speed of movement for the noise as more howling in
the distance made him think that they weren’t hunting, but rather calling to
each other. His back began to spasm, the pain shooting bolts up his spine. He
consciously took deep breaths and forced his eyes open, refusing to quit. The
girl lifted her arm and touched the side of his head.

Shane squinted and reopened his
eyes. The girl’s touch gave him renewed strength. They had bonded on the road,
even though they rarely spoke, and somehow he had connected with her. She
seemed to sense his pain and would try to comfort him. In return, he held her
hand when she called for her parents in the darkest parts of the night. Shane
didn’t know where she came from or why, but if not for her, he would have quit
long ago. He lived only to save her. For her, he could face his pain a while
longer.

Once he was close to the house,
within a hundred feet, he stopped jogging and slowed to a walk. He wanted to
have his breathing under control before he got within earshot of the building.
With no time to stop, he scouted the structure while moving forward. It was a
large two story house nearly a football field’s length from the river bank. The
sides were flanked with a tall covered porch. There were several sheds and wood
piles in the immediate vicinity. To one side, a long gravel driveway worked its
way through tall, uncut grass and overgrown bushes.

A sharp pain traveled from his
lower back to his neck, causing him to jolt forward and nearly fall to his
knees. Shane crouched to relieve the pressure and walked to an outcropping of
overgrown shrubs near the home’s porch. He got low to the ground and felt Ella
slide down beside him. He reached for her arm and helped her maneuver under the
brush and into a tight hiding spot. Then he slid his bag in front of her,
completely concealing her position.

Shane backed away from the brush
and quickly checked his surroundings. He could still hear the moans in the
distance. They hadn’t increased or changed from the casual calls to the more
intense high pitched calls of the hunt that he’d heard during the attack on the
base. For the moment, he was still undetected and he needed to keep it that way.
He resisted the urge to check the action on his rifle; he knew there were 10
rounds left, but either way he couldn’t risk a shot with so much activity in
the area.

He reached back and attached the
bayonet, then slowly crept toward the house. As Shane looked for a front door,
he noticed that two of the house’s windows under the covered porch were open. He
could see light fabric moving slightly in the evening breeze. He got lower and
approached under the cover of the porch rail to the home’s steps. He was
relieved to see that they were made up of fieldstone and poured concrete, no
squeaky boards to contend with… yet.

He placed a boot on the first step
and approached slowly, pausing to listen after every movement. In the fading
light, he could see the front door was partially open but still covered by a
flimsy screen door. Shane crept closer, cautiously applying his weight to the
floorboards of the porch. They felt sturdy under his feet and the years of
built up dirt and moss concealed any sound of his boots. He sidestepped and put
his left shoulder against the structure to keep the door in front of him. He
looked back in the direction of Ella and listened. The moaning was present but
remained far off.

Shane placed his gloved right hand
on the screen door and slowly pulled it open. It let out a slight squeak, but
Shane was already committed so he opened the door completely and used a block
of wood he found on the floor to prop it open. As soon as he stepped into the
home, he could smell strong scents of mildew and decayed death. Whatever had
lived here passed long ago. There wasn’t even enough left to keep the flies
interested. In a corner chair, he could just make out the badly decomposed form
of an elderly woman. Her head was back and her mouth open, a red afghan blanket
draped across her lap.

He quickly surveyed the room and
moved on down a hallway, past a small bathroom, and on to a long galley style
kitchen. The house was clean and well kept; pictures still hung on the walls
and things were in their correct place. Shane swung into the kitchen door and
looked beyond a tall countertop and saw that another body rested at a lunch
counter—an old man dressed in denim coveralls and a stained white shirt. A John
Deere ball cap sat hooked to the back of his chair. His right hand lay open on
a scrap of paper, his left still clutching a small handgun. Shane raised the
bayonet and approached the man tactically. As he neared, he could see the exit
wound at the top of the man’s head.

First floor clear, he
thought to himself and looked at the stairway leading to the second floor. He
debated moving on, but he wanted to get Ella inside. His fear of being
separated from the girl won out so he rushed back down the hallway and into the
yard. Again, he picked speed over caution and quickly snatched up the bag with
his right hand and let Ella take his left. He nearly dragged the girl back
across the long grass and up the porch. Once inside, he dropped his bag and
placed Ella on top of it. Shane put a finger to his lips and the girl nodded
with understanding.

Shane slid the block of wood away
from the door and let it swing shut before he closed and bolted the heavy
wooden door. He approached and attempted to close the windows. The first easily
slid into place, but the second was stuck, probably from the weeks of being
open to the southern humidity. Shane took a chance and pushed hard at the sash,
the swollen wood broke free and the window slammed home with a slap. It sounded
much louder in the dead silence of the house. From the corner of his eye he
watched Ella jump.

“It’s okay, it was just me,” he
whispered.

From above them, he heard the creak
of a floorboard and saw the girl’s eyes grow big as she looked up at the
ceiling. Shane held his breath as he heard another noise: more creaking of
boards, but confined to the same area. Walking on the balls of his feet, he
quickly moved back to Ella. He hoisted the bag with her still on top and
carried it to an empty corner of the room near a long sofa table. Shane pointed,
and Ella dropped off the bag and quickly crawled under the table. They could
hide here tonight and sneak out in the morning, leaving whatever lurked
upstairs alone. No, that wasn’t the way to stay alive. “I’ll be right back,” he
whispered hesitantly. Shane raised his rifle and patrolled back toward the
stairs, careful to remain silent.

When he passed through the kitchen,
he stopped at the dead man. Shane reached out and pried the man’s finger from
the handgun’s trigger, then released it from his grip. A small Walther P22; not
much punch, but it would beat throwing rocks. Shane released the magazine and
saw rounds stacked in the top, which was enough for now. He cleared the weapon
and dropped it into his cargo pocket. He again saw the slip of paper, the man
had written a note but his decomposing hand had all but obscured the text. Another
creak from above brought him back into the moment. Shane turned and walked to
the stairway. He cautiously placed his left boot on the step and slowly applied
his weight. The old wood treads protested and filled the home with a sound that
was quickly answered by the creaking upstairs. Shane continued moving. The
higher he got up the stairs, the more the creaking turned to pounding and then
stomping. But still no moans or screams… yet.

The stairway topped out at a long,
open loft. Three doors stood against a far wall; two of which were hanging open.
It was the door on the end where the pounding came from. Even without the
moans, Shane began to fear that other infected outside would be drawn to the
sounds of the pounding. His urgency to silence the thing increased. Shane
stepped quickly to the door and tested the handle. It turned easily, so he
pushed lightly and felt the door swing in. He let the door rest just inches
open, preparing for an impact. Nothing happened, other than the pounding became
frenzied.

Fearing the worst, he forced the
door open hard and pivoted in with the rifle and bayonet extended, ready to
attack. As he rotated into the room the stench hit him in the face. He reeled
back and nearly vomited before he caught sight of the creature. The terror of
the bloodied and soiled beast chained to a floor anchor was more than he
bargained for. His back stiffened and he felt his muscles tighten as his system
surged with adrenalin. Shane stepped back, fear moving his feet involuntarily. He
fought the muscles in his arms to keep the rifle up. His hands shook as the
creature lunged at him, the links of the chain clanking with every move of the
infected man.

He felt the door behind him and
stopped his backward movement. He crouched and quickly searched the room with
his eyes. It was a boy’s bedroom, a teenage boy. Rock posters hung from the
walls, model cars on a shelf. But in the corner… that’s where it was,
chained near a soiled and bare mattress. The thing looked at Shane with hate
while its arms maliciously reached for him. Shane could see where the thing had
pulled at the chain so hard, it created wounds and had torn the skin on its
neck. Its mouth was taped shut and its hands were balled, covered with fabric–old
socks maybe—and taped into mitts.

The end of the chain had been anchored
to the floor with a heavy bolt. Whoever did this knew the boy was dangerous,
that he would turn.

“God in heaven, why would they keep
it alive,” he mumbled.

Shane looked at the young man with
pity, seeing it for the thing it once was. He stepped forward with the rifle
held firmly. He slashed with the bayonet and felt the resistance as it
lacerated the boy’s shoulder and neck. The thing stumbled back and then rushed
again at Shane. The soldier was ready. He planted his left leg and lifted the
blade to meet the thing. He caught it in the heart then, without pausing,
yanked back on the rifle and stabbed forward to impale the thing’s face.

Instantly, the creature went limp
and dropped to the floor, taking the bayoneted rifle with it. Shane stepped in
and planted his boot on the thing’s neck, pulled back, and withdrew the blade
from its skull. He stepped away from the dead creature, scanning the room as he
backpedaled. Shane eased out of the doorway and pulled the door shut behind
him, then leaned against the wall. He was breathing hard and sweat poured down
his back. He rested there, catching his breath as the remaining light faded
from the room.

His legs fell weak; he considered
dropping to the floor and sitting against the wall, but moans from outside
shocked him to his senses and reminded him of the girl. He should get back to
her. Shane took a last deep breath through his mouth, trying to block the
rancid air. He moved lightly through the room, reaching for the stair railing
in the dark. He gripped the railing and cautiously walked to the bottom. The
light was gone now, so Shane dug in his pocket for a small pen light. He
covered the lens with the sleeve of his jacket and clicked it on.

Even with the lens covered, the
surefire threw a soft glow over the floor in front of him. Shane only left the
light on long enough to visually map the room then clicked it back off. He
moved forward, making a wide path around the dead man. He padded through the
kitchen and back into the doorway leading to the family room, where he had left
the girl. Again, he clicked on the light, quickly searched the room, and
clicked it off. He walked softly to the sofa table, reached down with his open
hand, and touched the bag. He knelt down then dropped to his rear before he
carefully scooted back until he felt the girl beside him.

Shane sat there and put his arm out.
The girl grabbed his gloved finger and slid closer, then climbed onto his lap. They
sat silently, Shane listening for every sound outside, every gust of wind, every
howl, and every moan. The longer he sat, the more his eyes adjusted to the low
light. Soon he could make out objects in the room and see the glow of moonlight
coming in from under the doors and around the window’s curtains. He knew the
front door was locked and bolted, but in his haste, he had forgotten to check
for a back entrance.

“Shane,” Ella whispered.

“Yeah?”

“Can we leave? It stinks funny in
here,” she asked.

Shane looked around the room. She
was right; the dead grandma in the corner, mixed with the mildew and rot,
didn’t make for a comfortable resting spot. He had only given the upstairs
rooms a cursory glance, but at least there he could safely open a window. He
heard more moaning coming from outside.  They seemed closer now; he imagined
them in the yard.

“Okay, let’s go,” he whispered to
her.

Shane got to his feet and flung the
heavy pack onto his shoulders. He grabbed his rifle and let it hang from its
sling. He felt the girl reach for his leg, her hands slipped up until she had a
solid handhold on his belt.

“It’s gonna be really dark but just
hold on, okay?” he whispered.

“Okay, Shane,” Ella replied in low
voice.

CHAPTER 10

Brad stood on the deck, suddenly
tired. He looked through those crowded around him and watched the raft fade
from view as it slipped into the darkness. Joey moved closer, a cigarette
hanging from his lips.

“Sergeant, so what happened over
there? Where are Sean and Brooks?” Joey asked.

“Huh, oh... we’ll be going ashore
soon. The Brits have located a survivor’s camp. Chief’s making arrangements,”
Brad answered, just giving away enough to feel honest. He turned and headed for
the passageway to search for Gunner.

Chelsea moved in front of him.
“Wait… aren’t you going to tell us what happened over there?”

“That’s all I have to say right
now. I need to speak with Gunner; you’re welcome to come with me if you’d
like,” Brad said moving around her. He walked to the port door and entered,
turning to follow the ladder to the lower deck and galley. As he navigated the
stairs, he heard the footfalls behind him and knew Chelsea had chosen to follow.

Brad stepped onto the landing and
moved toward the galley door. The door’s latch was down and secured. The fact
that the door was latched shut confirmed his suspicions that this was where
Gunner had taken the visitors. He held up and stood at the hatch, just as
Chelsea moved up behind him. She reached out and grabbed his forearm as he was
about to knock.

“Brad what’s going on?” she asked.

He held his hand in the air,
searching for the right words. “To be honest, I don’t know what’s happening and
I don’t know how to explain it all.” As he finished he pounded on the door,
then dropped his hand to open the hatch.

As he suspected, Gunner was inside
with the visitors positioned around him at a table. Kelli had also moved from
her position at the helm and joined them. They had all turned to look at Brad
as he walked in with Chelsea following close behind.

“Ahh, great, you’re back. Chief
Richardson here had just gotten off the radio with his superiors,” Gunner said.

Brad moved across the galley and
touched the coffee maker. It was warm and heavy so he flipped a lever and
filled his cup.

“So you know then?” he asked.

Richardson turned in his seat and
stared at Brad with concerned eyes. “Yes, it has all been sorted out,
Sergeant,” he answered.

“Sorted?” Brad asked.

Gunner stood and walked over to
fill his own cup. “Yes, Brad, Commander Stuart already sent us our destination.
We’ll be starting the engines and moving that way very soon. If we sail through
the night, we should make Charleston by first light.”

Kelli got up from her own seat. “On
that note, I should be getting back upstairs. Nelson will have us at the North
Pole if I leave him to navigate alone,” she laughed, “If you gentleman will excuse
me.”

“Wait, Charleston? Why there?”
Chelsea asked, taking everyone’s attention.

Gunner spoke first. “The Brits here
say they’ve made contact with a group of survivors holding out on an island—.”

“They’re at Fort Sumter,” Brad
finished.

“Fort Sumter… the one from the
civil war?” Chelsea asked.

“One in the same,” said Gunner,
moving back to his seat at the table. “Makes sense, really— small, walled
compound surrounded by water.”

Chelsea moved across the room and
sat in Kelli’s now empty seat. “Is there anything else? Did you get word from
the government? Do we know what’s going on at home?”

Gunner waved a hand at Richardson,
and then sat back in his chair. Richardson lifted his cup, sipped, and
grimaced. “You really do not have any tea?” he asked. “I don’t know how you
drink this bitter crud.”

He put the cup down and looked
across the table. “Corporal Swanson, is it?”

Chelsea nodded. Before she could
speak, Richardson continued, “From what Gunner has told me, you have all been
out for some time. It’s rather remarkable that you have made it all this way.”

“Not all of us made it,” Chelsea
said.

“Yes, lots of death. We haven’t had
any official contact with your nation in over a month. Not since Washington
fell,” Richardson said.

“That doesn’t make sense; they
couldn’t have all just gone.”

“We know that as your government
fell apart, some entities moved west into the mountains. Others broke apart and
fell behind defensive lines—”

Brad rinsed his empty cup and
returned it to a cupboard. “I know… we’ve already heard this story. Gunner was
there as Washington fell. But still, how is it we haven’t heard from anyone?”

Richardson laughed sarcastically.
“What do you want me to say? That we’ve picked up reports day and night of
communities being overrun, listened to them scream and beg for rescue?
Families barricaded in their homes begging for help? Is that the news you are
looking for?  I have plenty of that. I have a radioman that can’t sleep at
night after the horrors he has listened to over the past month.

“I don’t bloody know why the radios
went silent in recent days. Maybe the generators finally died, maybe batteries
have been expended. I can’t afford to speculate; all we know is we have had
consistent messages from Charleston. Have we reached out to them? No. But we
still know they are there.”

“Why haven’t you talked to them?”
Chelsea asked.

“Because there are others out
there… others that want what we have,” Richardson said.

“You mean the submarine?” Chelsea
said.

“That among other things,”
Richardson said looking at Brad.

Chelsea saw Brad’s expression
change as Richardson looked in his direction. “Why do I feel like I am the only
one in the room being left out of something?” she said.

The boat’s engines started. Brad
felt the vibration go through the ship’s structure then, slowly, it edged
forward as the throttles opened. Brad placed a hand against the counter to
steady himself as the speed gradually increased. He looked at the drawn faces
in the room. Chelsea’s cheeks had turned red and he could tell she was upset
but attempting to hide it.

“Why don’t you just get this over
with, Gunner? No point in hiding it until morning,” Brad said, walking to a
lone seat at a far table.

Gunner held his poker face and
looked across the table to Richardson who nodded. Gunner sipped at the coffee
then placed the cup on the table, holding it with both hands. “Okay, from what
I understand there is an American doctor on board the submarine that just may
hold the key to un-fucking the entire planet?”

Brad shook his head. “Really, is
that how you interpreted this? The doctor doesn’t have shit; he needs us for
that.”

“I don’t understand,” Chelsea said.
“Who is this doctor?”

Richardson quickly relayed Howard’s
story, how he came to be on the submarine, and all about the patient. He told
them about the mission they were planning to recover the sample and how the
Americans and their vessel would now play a pivotal role.

Chelsea sat quietly absorbing
Richardson’s words. When he finished, she looked up at him. “You think this
little girl could still be alive?”

Richardson looked at her
thoughtfully. “If the doctor is right, we have to try.”

“I’m going,” Chelsea said.

Gunner put his hands up. “Okay,
let’s all slow down a bit. We don’t have to make any decisions tonight.”

Brad cleared his throat and stood. “Gunner's
right. And to be honest, I’m tired of listening to these stories. I’m going to
try to get some rest before I relieve the guys on deck. I suggest you all do
the same, sounds like tomorrow is going to be a busy day.”

Brad turned and, walking through
the hatch, left the galley. He worked his way through the ship and into the
small berthing compartment he shared with the other men. The lights were dimmed
but he could see that Parker and Joey were still above on the deck. Nelson’s
rack was also empty—probably at the controls with Kelli. Brad found his bunk
and sat on the bed as he removed his boots. There wasn’t much he could do
tonight and he really was tired of discussing the mission to find the girl… or
her remains.

He knew he would go if asked, even
though it was the last thing he wanted. Brad wasn’t in the business of turning
down the tough assignments. He was tired from his travels and just wanting to
return home, but if Sean decided this was the right thing to do then he would
get on board with it.

Having removed his boots, he lay back
on the rack, planning to only take a time out before making his way above to
check on the rest of the crew. The waters were calm here, the slow swells
gently rocking the boat as it moved through the water. He imagined Brooks and
Sean on the submarine hunched over maps, planning their next mission. The hum
of the engine reverberated through the small berthing compartment. Brad rolled
to his side and closed his eyes, just wanting to rest for a bit.

CHAPTER 11

Shane sat in a chair in the corner
of the master bedroom. It was dark, but the moonlight lit the room in a shade
of deep blue. The girl was sleeping soundly; he’d found blankets in a closet
and spread them over the bed then wrapped her in them. Even though they’d slept
the entire day, the girl drifted off quickly. Shane worried that it was from
lack of food. He hadn’t found much to eat and the barge captain had taken most
of his supplies as a form of payment.

When he thought about the precious
food he had turned over to the man and then basically being forced to walk the
plank, Shane had no feelings of remorse about tossing the grenade. Besides,
they surely would have killed them as soon as they hit the water and the
grenade was the only diversion he had. The moaning grew louder and distracted
him from his thoughts. He lowered himself to the floor and looked through the
small crack at the bottom of the window.

In this back part of the house, he
could just make out the river. The light from the moon reflected back at him. He
recognized the small path that ran parallel to the bank. It was there that he
spotted a small empty boat dock. The moan came again, closer this time. Shane
got lower on his knees and intently looked into the distance. Concentrating,
his eyes adjusted and he picked up on their subtle movements.

Three figures were on the path near
the river but they appeared to be facing the house and studying it somehow.
Shane wished for his night vision goggles. They were in his pack but the
batteries were long dead. His rifle only had iron sites; it was an older model
and had treated him well, but he wouldn’t be able to see anything in the dark. He
pushed the thoughts from his mind and focused on the figures near the path. He
watched as the group separated; two continued on, while one turned and walked
the small trail that led to the house.

Shane felt his heart rate quicken
and sweat form on his back as the figure moved closer.   He moved farther away
from the window, concealing himself even more in the dark shadows of the room. He
imagined the creature could see him, even though he knew it was paranoia, and
he considered moving to the first floor to kill the thing before it could sound
a warning to the others. Shane watched as it left the trail and disappeared
close to the house. It was too close now for him to see, so he turned and moved
back to the chair.

He lifted the rifle and let the
handgrips give him comfort. Seated deeply in the chair, he listened. He heard
the squeak of old boards as the thing stepped onto the covered front porch. There
was a banging and scratching of wood, then the rattle of glass. The girl sat
up, frightened by the sounds. Shane moved to the bed, sat beside her, and put his
hand on her back, whispering that it was okay.

“It’s just checking the place out. Once
it finds the doors locked, it’ll move on, Ella,” Shane whispered.

The noise stopped and Shane heard
the creature once again plod across the wooden porch. He knew it was looking
for a back door or an easy way in. Shane knew the things were lazy. They
wouldn’t force their way into a home, not unless they knew prey was inside. If
a door was open, or they found an easy entrance, of course they would venture
in. But Shane had never seen them risk injury to themselves to break into an
empty room. Maybe lazy isn’t the right word for it, Shane thought, maybe
it was a deep sense of self preservation. Breaking glass and wood for nothing
wasn’t a character trait of any animal.

The squeaking suddenly stopped and
was replaced by a more solid pounding. It must have found the back door. Shane
prayed that it was locked. In his haste to secure a hiding place, he’d
neglected to check it. He heard it pound again against the heavy door; the wood
rattled as it tugged and pulled at the doorknob. Shane heard a moan from below,
still not the rabid moans of them on the hunt but more of a frustrated whine. Ella
took Shane’s hand and pulled it to her cheek; he could feel her shaking. No
longer hearing the thing at the door, he lowered himself onto the bed and lay
next to the girl. He pulled the blanket over her and tucked her in tight.

He stared at the door, listening as
the sounds caused his mind to drift. The house made tiny creaks and groans as
most old houses would. Shane grew up on a rural farm where he was raised by his
grandfather. His bedroom was not unlike this one, in the upper corner of a
hundred-year-old farm house. In the days after his mother died, he’d spent many
nights like this lying in bed listening to the house speak. He would imagine
she was walking up the stairs, coming to get him to bring him home. But mother
never came.

His grandfather was strict but not
abusive. He raised him to respect hard work and to appreciate a job well done. He’d
taught him how to hunt and fish, how to track an animal, and how to prepare it
for the stove. He remembered going on long walks in the woods, his grandfather
pointing out different plants and showing him how they could be eaten or used
to treat a wound or an insect bite. If they had walked too far, sometimes they
would bivouac in the open for fun and make their way back home at first light.

Later, when all of his friends were
driving cars and chasing girls, Shane was home taking care of his grandfather
as dementia slowly took hold of him. When his grandfather began to fall and
could no longer stay home safely, the people from the state came and took him
to a nursing home. Because Shane had just turned eighteen, he was allowed to
stay alone until he finished school. Neighbors would check in on him from time
to time, but those were still the loneliest days of his life. His grandfather
passed away a day after he graduated from high school and a day after that, the
tax man showed up to take the farm.

With nothing else to do, he
enlisted in the Army, telling the recruiter he wanted to leave as soon as
possible. The Army became his family; he suddenly had real brothers to call his
own. Shane adapted to his new life and thrived. He never forgot the farm but
the painful memories of the place faded from his mind. He was finally able to
smile again and have hopeful thoughts about the future until one day, on a hot
desert road, everything once again was taken from him—his new family, his
health, and the Army.

Shane was lying in the same
position as sunlight slowly filled the room. He pushed away from the bed, not
really knowing if he’d slept or not. He felt as if his mind had never shut off.
He was mentally and physically exhausted. His back was protesting, and when he
stood, he felt the tightness in his muscles as he stretched. Shane moved to the
window and looked into the yard. He stood motionless with an arm against the
wall, silently watching, looking for any signs of them.

He heard the girl stir on the bed
and turned.

“I’m hungry, Shane,” he heard her
say.

He looked at the watch on his
wrist; it was nearly 8am, close to twenty four hours since their last meal. Shane
lifted his heavy pack onto the bed and dug through a waterproof bag where he’d
stored their rations. There wasn’t much left: some crackers that had been
crushed to dust, a small block of cheese, and more of the granola. He pushed
the bag back into his ruck and zipped it shut.

“Okay, Ella, let’s see what we can
find downstairs,” he said to her. Shane moved to the closet where he’d found
the blankets the night before and pulled down a folded sheet. Shane looked back
at her, helped her off the bed, and she smiled at him. “Okay, follow me.”

He slowly walked down the open
staircase, stopping every few steps to listen. He knew the room was clear. He’d
secured it the night before, but it always paid double to err on the side of
caution. He stepped onto the landing and looked into the kitchen. Bright light
now filled the room and, scanning, he could see that it was empty. The old man
still sat where he had left him. The body was slumped in a kitchen chair with
its head melded into the countertop.

“Wait here,” he told the girl as
she came up behind him at the bottom of the steps.

Shane moved to the old man and
covered him with the bed sheet. He then put on his gloves and grabbed the
mummified corpse under the arms and dragged it away from the counter. The chair
stuck to the body and made a scratching sound as it slid across the kitchen
floor. Shane twisted, lifted the stiff body, and dragged it down the hall into
the living room. He let the body sit in the middle of the now well-lit room.

Shane quickly assessed the space. There
was nothing here for him. He looked at the old woman in the corner; she had
been dead for a long time, same as the old man. The room held the stench of
death and decay. He found an old blanket lying over a sofa arm which he quickly
retrieved and draped it over the old woman. He heard Ella call for him so he
retreated from the space and moved back into the kitchen.

The girl was waiting for him at the
bottom of the stairs. She looked up at him. “What are you doing, Shane?”

“Oh, nothing for you to worry about.
Now, let’s see if we can get us something to eat,” he said as he reached down
and lifted her up. Shane carried her across the room and sat her at a round
kitchen table. “You wait here and let me see what these people left for us.”

Shane walked into the kitchen and
opened a tall pantry that rested against a wall. It was nearly empty; a few
mason jars filled with vegetables, a bag of flour, and a box of cornbread mix.

“Well, that’s no good,” he said as
he moved toward a set of kitchen cabinets. Shane opened each door and drawer
one at a time, finding dishes, glasses, and old cook books until finally, he
moved across the room and opened a deep drawer next to the stove. He smiled
when he looked inside then pulled out a nearly half-full box of corn flakes.

“Well, look at this, Ella,” Shane
said, holding the box up.

She smiled back at him and giggled.
“Can we have it?”

“Sure can,” he answered rooting
through a cupboard for a couple bowls. He grabbed them in one hand and walked
back to the table. He placed a bowl in front of the girl and filled it with the
corn flakes. “Sorry there’s no milk. If they had a cow, I’d go milk her for
you,” he said, causing Ella to giggle.

She reached into the bowl and
grabbed at the cereal. “Mmm, it’s good. Are you gonna eat, Shane?”

“Nahh, I’ll let you have this. I’ll
eat some of them nasty canned vegetables. I figure I’d do better at tolerating
them then you would.”

The girl nodded in response as she
ate. Shane walked to the old refrigerator, pulled a rag from his pocket, and
used his left hand to hold the rag over his nose and mouth. He opened the door
and looked inside. As he suspected, it was filled with rotting and molded food.
But it also held several cans of soda and a few sealed bottles of water. He
quickly reached in with his right hand and removed anything sealed then closed
the door.

“Today is your lucky day, girl; you
get a warm cola with your breakfast.” He used the rag to wipe the top of the
can clean and then popped the top. He took a sip of the warm liquid then placed
the can in front of the girl. As he turned to walk back to the counter where
he’d placed the other cans and bottles, a yellow box on top of the refrigerator
caught his eye. He stopped, then walked over, reached up, and grabbed the box.

He already knew what it was:
several hundred rounds of .22 long rifle for the pistol he’d found the night
before. He sat the nearly-full box on the counter and moved to the stove. He
stood staring at the knob. This was the most luck they’d had in days, but would
it continue?  He turned the knob and heard the gas hiss. Shane smiled as he
turned it back off. He dug though his pocket for his small disposable lighter;
it was low on fuel but this would be worth it. He turned the knob back on and
held the lighter to the burner. It quickly lit and Shane adjusted the flame
until it burnt a bright blue.

“Now maybe those canned veggies
won’t be so harsh after all. Heck, I can even make us up some pan fried cornbread,”
Shane said to the girl with an exaggerated grin.

CHAPTER 12

The slamming of the berthing hatch
woke him. He looked around the dark space and watched Nelson stumbling around
in the dark. “Turn on the light if you need to,” Brad said, pulling himself up into
a seated position.

“Thank you,” Nelson said as he
reached up and felt for a switch before flicking on the light.  Nelson kicked
off his boots, quickly fell to the bed, and stretched out across it. “Damn, I’m
tired. Kelli doesn’t ever give me a break. That woman is a hard charger to the
core,” he laughed.

Brad chuckled with him. “She
doesn’t mess around, that’s for sure. Hey, what time you got?”

“Oh, it’s nearly oh six hundred; we
should be near the harbor in another few hours.”

“Damn, I didn’t plan to fall asleep
like that,” Brad said, reaching for his boots.

“Why not? Ain’t shit else for you
to do while we’re out here,” Nelson said.

“Yeah, I know, but I wanted to have
a word with Gunner before we reached Charleston.”

“About the girl?” Nelson asked.

“The girl?” Brad said, unable to
hide the shock in his voice.

“The sick one or whatever she is.
Gunner said we’re going to go help—,” Nelson paused and took in a deep yawn.
“Find her or something.”

“So everyone knows now, huh? What
do the rest of the guys think about it?”

“Oh… I don’t know; most of us just
want to get off this damn boat. Sergeant, you mind if I cut that light?” Nelson
asked as he rolled to his side.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll get it
on my way out,” Brad said as he left the compartment.

Brad stepped into the P-way and
looked back toward the galley; the hatch was dogged open and the light was off.
He turned and moved to the ladder that went up to the deck. He found Joey lying
back in a chair, sound asleep, with his rifle cradled in his hands. It had been
Joey’s habit to sleep up on deck when the weather was nice. The Marine didn’t
like being below decks if he didn’t have to. Brad walked past him and climbed
up to the bridge.

He got to the top deck and followed
the rail to the wheelhouse, opened the hatch, and stepped inside. He saw that
Gunner was sleeping in one of the leather captain’s chairs. Parker was behind
the wheel while Kelli sat in a far chair sipping coffee. She looked at him and
nodded nonchalantly. Brad walked behind them and found the coffee pot. He
poured a cup and sat at an empty navigation table. Brad saw that the GPS
monitor screen was dark green, and in white letters it read SAT NOT ACQUIRED.

“So, you know where we’re going?”
Brad asked. “Would hate to get lost out here in the dark.”

Kelli looked at him and pointed far
ahead in the hazy fog. In the early morning light, he could just make out the
red navigation beacon of the submarine.

“It isn’t that difficult to follow
a light; it’s so easy a Parker could do it,” she joked.

“Hey watch it,” Parker said without
taking his eyes off the view in front of him.

Brad tapped the screen. “How long
has the GPS been out?”

“It comes and goes,” Kelli said. “Satellites
are still up there but with nobody to maintain them and the software, they’re
going to start dropping.”

“How long for all of that to
happen?” Brad asked.

“It’s a loaded question. I’m no
expert but I suspect the very low orbit ones are probably already failing. The
higher up stuff might last ten years, a hundred years, or even longer. Doesn’t
matter though; with nothing on the ground to talk to them, they’re just
floating boat anchors.”

Gunner snored loudly. His head
leaned back then slumped forward without him waking up. Brad looked at Gunner
and smiled. “So how long’s that stubborn fool been up here?  Anyone remind him
there are racks below deck?”

Parker looked over at Gunner. “He’s
been up here most of the night. Said he wanted to be close—you know, as long as
Chief and Brooks are over on the sub…” Parker said.

“Always on point,” Brad half
whispered to himself.

Brad heard heavy footfalls on the
ladder. He looked over his shoulder and saw Joey walking toward the bridge with
the British sailors following. Joey nodded to him through the window when they
made eye contact. He pulled the hatch open and waved the sailors in ahead of
him. He stepped through and closed the hatch behind them.

“Damn, it’s getting chilly out
there,” Joey said.

“You’re joking, right mate?” one of
the British sailors quipped back.

Joey shook his head and marched
towards the coffee pot. “No man, I’m from Cali; this is too damn cold for me.”

“Fuck you, man!” Brad yelled jokingly.
“You want to go back to Newfoundland? This is tropical compared to that rock.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Joey said as he
finished pouring his coffee.

He moved across the room and leaned
against a far console. “So anyway, Chief Richardson here was looking for Gunner,”
Joey said as he pointed to Richardson who had been standing quietly behind them.

Richardson grinned at being
acknowledged and used the back of his hand to smack Gunner’s chair. “This chap
can sleep through a hurricane, can’t he?”

Gunner jumped forward in the chair
and looked around him. “What the hell is going on?” he yelled, reacting to the
slap.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” Richardson
laughed.

“I am now,” Gunner growled.

“New orders, mate,” Richardson said,
holding up the radio. “Skipper says we are a couple hours out from Charleston.
He wants us to hold in place while the others join us. Then we will reconnoiter
ahead on our own.”

“Why we going on alone?” Gunner
asked as he yawned.

“Skipper doesn’t want to risk the
boat. Too many unknowns close to shore. Don’t worry, Yank, he’ll have us on
radar and we can call for support if you get scared.”

Parker looked back at Kelli. “They’re
stopping, ma’am,” he said, pointing ahead at the submarine. Bright lights had
been illuminated, casting a white hue through the fog and making the submarine
appear to glow.

“Bring us up around their port side
and keep us a hundred meters off… if that is acceptable Chief?” Kelli said,
looking to Richardson for confirmation.

“Make it happen. Gunner can you
join me on the dive deck? I’ll let the team know we’re ready for them to come
aboard,” Richardson said, moving back to the hatch. He un-dogged the latch and
exited, followed by his men.

Gunner exhaled a long sigh while he
got to his feet and followed. As he stepped through the hatch, he stopped and
looked back at Brad. “Well… get off your asses, it’s time to earn your pay.”

“What fucking pay?” Joey asked.

Brad laughed. “It’s a figure of
speech, hero; come on let’s go.”

Brad moved out of the bridge,
following the others down the ladder. When he reached the bottom, he saw that
Nelson and Chelsea had already been called on and were standing with the others
on the dive deck.

“Here they come!” Nelson shouted.

Brad jumped to the deck and moved
around to the far rail. In the distance, he could see two inflatables cutting
through the still water in their direction. It didn’t take long for them to move
up alongside. The first boat held Sean and the others. When the raft pulled up,
they were quickly welcomed aboard. Then the second raft moved in and several
large nylon bags were passed over the rail and stacked in the center of the
deck.

Nelson carried one of the heavy bags
across the deck and let it drop next to the others. “Shit’s heavy, what’s in
them?” he asked.

“Food and ammo,” Sean answered,
moving across the deck to shake Gunner’s hand.

Howard separated himself from the
others and moved toward the bulkhead. He stood silently, holding a heavy
leather satchel. Brad watched him as he nervously held the bag close to his
chest. Meyers moved close to the doctor and stood next to him before speaking.

“Well, gentleman, it’s up to us now.
You will find gear and ammo in the bags. You are welcome to split up everything…
except that black bag. That’s my gear, so keep out of it.  You can split that
up when I’m dead,” he shouted before turning to Richardson. “Chief, can you
tell them we are ready to proceed to the harbor, and let’s open this tub up a
bit—I’m in a hurry to get this started.”

“Aye, sir,” Richardson sounded off,
then turned and nodded to one of the British sailors who quickly turned to
climb the ladder.

CHAPTER 13

Shane prepared all of the food he
could. He filled his own stomach on the canned vegetables—eating cooked beans,
tomatoes and carrots—while he encouraged the girl to eat all of the cereal. He
knew it was important to get their calories when they could. Shane made
pancakes with the cornbread and let them cook a little longer then they needed,
trying to dry them out so that they would travel without spoiling. He found
some Ziploc bags in the kitchen and packaged as much food as he could.

He retrieved their bags from upstairs
and began rearranging and packing their gear. He removed all of their water
bottles; most were empty but what water was left he poured into a tall glass
that he told Ella to drink. The farmhouse had a well but would require
electricity to run. He looked out of the back door to the river. He hated the
thought of drinking the murky water, but here he could at least boil it on the
stove.

Shane took all the empty bottles
from his bag and lined them up on the counter. He found a small recyclable grocery
bag in a cupboard and loaded all of the bottles in it. He pulled the small
Walther pistol from his cargo pocket, then reached in and found the magazine. He
pushed against the rounds and felt stiff resistance. The magazine only took two
rounds from the box to top it off. He slid the magazine home and chambered a
round.

The girl was still sitting at the
kitchen table, babbling to herself and using a grease marker to draw on the
wood surface. “Ella, I’m going to walk down to the dock and get water,” he
said.

“No, Shane, I don’t want you to
go,” she pouted.

“It’s okay; I’ll only be gone a few
minutes. You’ll be okay in here.” She agreed, but Shane saw the worry on her
face as he took the bottle bag from the counter and slung his rifle.

He showed her how to work the lock
on the kitchen door, and then he watched her work the lever with her tiny
fingers several times to make sure she could. It was barely 10am, and he was
confident he wouldn’t see any of them this time of day, but he still wouldn’t
leave them an open door. He rubbed her head, brushed the hair from her eyes, and
told her to just sit quietly. Shane turned the lever on the knob, then stepped
onto the porch; closing the door behind him and feeling the latch catch. He
heard the clunk of the bolt as Ella worked the lever. He checked to make sure
it locked and then moved toward the steps.

Shane stepped onto the stone path
that led to the river. The grass on both sides of the path was tall and
overgrown. He knelt down and looked in both directions; he could just make out
the muddy trail that ran parallel to the river. If they were out there, that’s
where they would come from. After sitting still for several minutes, he was
confident he was alone and not being watched. Shane got back to his feet and hastily
moved in the direction of the dock.

The dock was made up of aluminum
planking and sat just above the level of the water. Branches and logs had piled
up against it on one side, but the pylons still held it securely in place.  Shane
stepped onto the dock just far enough so that he could reach the water. He tied
all of the bottles to a string and lowered them in one at a time, letting them
fill and sink below the water’s surface. He quickly pulled the rope and
retrieved bottles after the bubbles stopped.

Shane turned and surveyed the area
again to make sure nothing had moved in behind him. The way was clear, so he
stepped off and started moving back to the house. He stopped when he crossed
the trail—there were footprints in the mud. They were fresh, so they must have
been from the things he observed the night before. Two of the infected were
barefoot, but the third had a track Shane recognized. It was the boot with a
four-pronged heel; the same track he’d spotted when he initially left the
river.

Curious now, Shane followed the
track a short distance before he saw that it separated from the others and
moved toward the house before disappearing onto the stone path. So, it was
the one that went to the door, he thought to himself. Did the thing
track us back to the house… all the way from the river bank? Or was it
coincidence?  We traveled from the road the night before, so it couldn’t
have tracked us from the trail, but why did it stop at the house?  If it came
back tonight, it may try to enter the place. Shane was planning to hold up
there for a few days while they rested, but now, with one this close and
possibly tracking him, he couldn’t risk it.

He looked around again in all
directions, then rushed to the house. On the porch, he tapped at the door the
way he’d discussed with Ella and the girl quickly opened it. Shane closed the
door behind him and turned the lever to lock it. Not wasting time, he moved
back to the counter and dumped the bag of bottles. He dug through a deep drawer
and pulled out a large pot and placed it on the stove. Quickly, he poured the contents
of all of the bottles into the pot and then put in the bottles themselves. After
he turned on the heat, he quickly searched the rest of the house.

Shane didn’t know where he was, or
where he was going, and he needed to find out. He walked back into the living
room and found a stack of old newspapers and mail. He unfolded the paper; it
was a local county ledger of sorts. Dated late July, only a week or so into the
fall, if he remembered correctly. This part of the country held up pretty well
for the first few weeks. The southwest fell first as the infected crossed in
from Mexico and up through California.  Then it spread up and in through the
heartland. Eventually, the Northeast was infected as the virus raged over the
border from Canada and down the east coast. The paper was absent of any real
news. There were only the warnings to remain indoors and some vague stories of
rioting in Arizona.

The paper said Charleston County;
the address on the mail read Summerton. The barge captain had said they
were moving south to the sea and a survivor’s camp near there. Shane found an
old desk, dug through the drawers, and was rewarded with a worn state roadmap. He
unfolded it and scanned its surface. On the back was a location guide. It
wasn’t precise enough to navigate, but he could use it to get his bearings. He
tried comparing the address on the mail to the map. He couldn’t pinpoint his
location but could see the river on the map, and he traced it down to where it
met the harbor. Moving his finger along the city outlines, he could see the
greater limits of what was identified as Summerton, but it was on the wrong
side of the river.

From the map, he guessed he was
north of the international airport and somewhere on the west bank of the river.
He knew they had traveled mostly through wooded areas, no big cities, and very
few large bridges, so he must be just outside of the city. Still, where could
he go? He couldn’t travel the river south since the captain would surely be
looking for him and would have put out the word about the girl. He couldn’t go due
west; Atlanta would be packed with infected. He knew from early reports at the armory
that Fort Jackson was gone and abandoned, so the North was out. Then he
remembered the stories about Hunter Army Airfield in Savannah.

After Washington D.C. was lost,
many units broke up and fortified themselves in smaller bases. One of those
units was the Ranger regiment headquartered at Savannah. Shane heard stories
about the Rangers at Hunter Airfield having held off wave after wave of the
infected. They even ran convoy operations out of the area, helping rescue
survivors. Because the airfields were fortified and well-defended, the
government was able to make relief flights to them.

That was at the beginning, though,
when aviation fuel was still readily available. Would the Rangers still be
there? Shane pondered to himself. They should be; up until a few days ago
even Fort Collins was still there, surely the Rangers would be. He looked
at the map and used a sheet of paper to guess the scale. It had to be at least
a hundred miles over swamp and rough terrain if he traveled directly. We
don’t have any other choice, he thought.

“Yes, I’ll get her to Savannah; it’s
her only chance,” Shane whispered.

Shane folded the map and stuck it
in a chest pocket of his uniform top. He surveyed the room one last time,
looking for anything that would be useful. He checked his wristwatch; it was
approaching noon so they would have to move soon. He rushed back to the kitchen
where the water was boiling heavily. He turned off the stove and used kitchen
tongs to remove the soft plastic bottles. The boiling deformed them, but they were
now sterile and would still hold water.

Ella watched him curiously as he
packed his rucksack with the bags of food while he allowed the water to cool.

“Are we leaving, Shane?” she asked,
dropping the grease marker she’d been using to draw on the kitchen table.

“I’m afraid so, Ella. I don’t think
it’s safe here.”

“Where are we going?”

“I know a place; we can find
friends there,” Shane said, hoping is words were true.

“Will my momma be there?” she
asked.

He frowned. Since the day Shane
found the girl at the armory clinic, she’d occasionally asked about her mother.
When he found her, Shane didn’t waste time trying to recover information about
her. His priority was getting her dressed and away from the area. He’d seen the
bandaged wound on her arm and knew she would probably turn, but he didn’t have
it in him to leave her behind—besides maybe it was just a cut, he’d told
himself. In that first day, she didn’t speak. She had hung onto his neck and
when he looked down at her she would stare back with hollow eyes. Shane figured
she was heavily sedated or most likely in shock.

He’d managed to carry her away from
the armory and down a long road, back into a neighborhood he was familiar with.
They made it to an old auto shop and hid in it as the sun was setting, sleeping
in the back of an old SUV that was up on a lift. The girl never spoke; all
through the night she just stared at him with those sad, empty eyes. When
morning came, he asked her if she was thirsty. In response, she asked him for
her mother. Even now, he still didn’t know what to tell her.

“Maybe, but we have a long way to
go, so we need to hurry,” he said as he moved back to the stove and prepared to
fill the bottles.

“But I like it here,” she whined.

“We’ll find another place, Ella.”

CHAPTER 14

As the Coast Guard ship navigated
near Charleston, they spotted the island fort at the mouth of the harbor. There
were no flags flying at the top of its pole, but there were obvious signs of
life. White smoke billowed up over the walls from numerous fires. They could
see a number of riverboats and other fishing type vessels moored together near
the fort’s ferry landing. Through binoculars, they could see people moving back
and forth high on the walls and across the fort grounds.

Brad was standing on the bow with
the others. Sean had his binoculars out, looking intently at the fort while
Brooks was using a spotting scope to observe the far coast line.

“Beach looks empty,” Brooks said,
scanning left to right over the mainland shore.

“Aye, this time of day it’d be
expected, but they’ll show themselves in the evening. They always do,” Meyers
chirped back.

Sean lowered his binoculars and
stepped away from the rail. “Your call, Meyers. They haven’t answered the radio.
You want us to roll up to the front door and pull into the driveway, or take
the small boat and scout ahead?”

Meyers grinned. “Show of force, as
you Yanks say; let’s roll up in the big ship. Let them see our flags and
weapons.”

Sean forced a smile and stared at
the fort’s wall one more time. “Okay. Brad, get out front with Parker and Joey;
have your rifles at the low ready. Chelsea, you’re with me and Nelson on the
dive deck. Brooks, find a hiding spot and get behind that rifle,” Sean ordered.

Brad turned to face Sean. In a low
voice, he asked, “Are we expecting trouble, Chief?”

“I don’t know who’s out there; we
just need them to know that we aren’t to be fucked with,” Sean answered as he
walked away, headed to the dive deck.

Brad unslung his rifle and checked
the action; it was ready to go. He looked to his right and saw Joey and Parker
making the same preparations. “Okay, fellas, let’s soldier up. I expect there
to be lots of armed men down there, so let’s not go starting a gun fight on our
first day back,” Brad said.

“Roger that,” Joey responded.

Kelli eased up on the throttle,
slowing the boat to a crawl. People at the fort began to take notice. Men ran
out to the dock and Brad saw them pointing excitedly. More people began
crowding the tower walls as word spread of visitors. There was a long, T-shaped
pier north of the fort and Kelli seemed to be maneuvering in that direction. Brad
looked up and down the pier—every portion of it was occupied by some type of
vessel.

They came around, steering a wide
path and keeping their distance on the flotilla of boats. Kelli steered them
around the pier, sticking to the deep water, then cut in slightly before
cutting the engines and ordering that the anchors be dropped. With the engines
silenced, they could hear the voices of shouting men being carried over the
water. Brad looked intently at the dock that was only a couple hundred meters
away now. He could see civilians and others dressed in bits of military
uniforms.

He let his eyes drift west and to
the south part of the fort. There looked to be a long sandbar connecting the
fort to the mainland. Water ran over portions of it. In other spots, heavy
rolls of razor wire and other barriers had been piled up to form a heavy
perimeter through the shallows. Brad could identify bits of fabric in the wire
and was sure that if he inspected them through his rifle’s optics, he would
find that they were Primal bodies.

“We got a boat approaching,” Brad
heard Nelson yell from the lower deck.

Brad turned to face back north and
saw a small civilian--style cabin cruiser had started moving in their direction.
Three men in uniform stood behind a small windshield. Brad ordered Joey to move
to the other side of the boat and keep his eyes on the approaching craft. When
it got to within a hundred feet, Gunner used the ship’s horn to halt the boat.
The man driving the smaller craft cut the engine and they slowly drifted in the
water.

One of the men climbed up on the
bow of the boat and waved a white flag. He was close enough that Brad could
clearly see him now. Although he was dressed in Marine Corps digital camouflage,
the man’s face was heavily bearded. One of the two men behind the windscreen
was also dressed as a Marine, while the third wore the digital blue camouflage
of a Navy uniform.

The hatch of the bridge opened and
Gunner walked out, stopping at the rail between Brad and Joey. He gripped the
rail with both hands and yelled to the men in the boat. ”Good morning, we are
with the United States Military. Who is in command of the fort?”

The men on the small boat looked at
each other, then the man on the bow tossed the white flag down. They seemed to
be talking amongst themselves and laughing. Gunner yelled again, “Excuse me,
did I say something that amuses you?”

An older man dressed as a marine,
standing behind the windshield, stood on a seat and gripped the top bar of the
glass. “So, what part of the military you with?  ‘Cause there sure as hell
ain’t no more United States.”

Gunner ignored the question. “Are
you armed?”

“No, sir, but I see you all are,” the
man yelled back.

“Good… go ahead and bring your boat
in.  We’ll throw you a line, but let’s keep your hands up,” Gunner shouted.

The men on the craft seemed to be
arguing with each other; one continually pointed back at the fort while the
others shook their heads in disagreement. Finally, the older man moved back
behind the controls and the engine started. As Gunner had requested, the others
put their hands up and held the windshield so they could be seen. The boat
pulled in close and drifted sideways. Nelson tossed a line that was caught by
the man in the Navy uniform.

They quickly pulled the boat in and
Nelson tied it off. Brad ordered Joey and Parker to keep their eyes on the
water while he moved toward the ladder with Gunner. They climbed down to the
lower deck, joining Sean and the others just as the older Marine was being helped
aboard.

The Marine looked at all of them
and then laughed again. “Hell, you all are Americans. What are you doing on
this Canuk boat?” he asked.

Gunner stepped forward. “It’s a long
story. So, what’s with you? Are the Marines in charge here?” Gunner asked,
pointing to the globe and anchor on the man’s hat.

“Shit… I wish; bunch of state troopers
and damn park rangers run the fort. I’m Gunnery Sergeant Cordell, that’s
Corporal Rodrigo on the boat, and Seaman Anderson with him. We let the park
rangers think they are in charge, but we’re the ones holding this place
together. Unfortunately, me, Rodrigo, and Anderson here make up nearly fifty
percent of the service members at the fort,” Cordell said, pointing to his two
men still in the boat, “and I have a few more men up on guard duty.”

Cordell paused and looked around
the deck of the boat. “So… I showed you mine, now who are you?”

Gunner made introductions and gave
the man a vague story of who they were and how they got there. He told him they
were gathering information about survivors in the region and looking to move
inland using the rivers.

“Hell, brother, why would you want
to go out there? Most folks die trying to get here,” Cordell said.

Sean moved in and pointed toward
the main land. “You mean there is nothing else out there?”

Cordell scratched at his chin and
turned so that he was looking at the far beach. “I heard there are some small
pockets. Some National Guard guys holding up here and there. A state trooper barracks
up north someplace is apparently doing well. There are some others buttoned up
in an old cement quarry. But seriously, folks, even if you got to guys like
that, they ain’t looking to leave, or even share what they got. And hell, don’t
even get me started on the bandits and killers taking advantage of things.

“Now if you really are
looking to travel up the river, we might be able to help you with that, but it
won’t be cheap. We make runs up the river a couple times a week and sometimes
they find people looking to travel here, but it has gotten less frequent.”

“You go over there?” Sean asked,
pointing to the mainland.

“Nah… hell, no. We got guys that go
for us; they travel in barges up the rivers. They clean out old warehouses and
whatnot, bring the supplies back to us for trade. It’s the new enterprise;
folks pay them for passage, and we charge the boats to dock here and allow them
to sell their goods to folks in the camp. You know,” Cordell paused, scratching
his chin, “come to speak of it, one of the boats came in yesterday afternoon and
brought in a few stragglers. Would you be interested in speaking with them?”

Gunner looked to Meyers who nodded
back. “I think I’ll take you up on that offer. Could we see the captain of the
boat that brought them in? We may have some business for him,” Gunner said.

Cordell nodded his head. “Well, no
time like the present,” Cordell said, moving back to the rail and climbing
aboard the smaller boat.

Gunner slapped Meyers’ back. “You
ever been to the States before?”

Meyers laughed in response then
turned around, pointing at Howard. “Doc, you’re up. Sergeant Thompson, is it?” he
said, looking at Brad.

Brad stumbled, not expecting to be
called on. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“Good. Doctor Howard, Sergeant
Thompson is your bodyguard; do whatever he says. Stay by his side.”

Gunner walked across the deck
toward the rail. He stopped and spoke to Sean, “If we find what we’re looking
for, we’ll be wanting to leave right away. Think you can keep this thing
floating while we go ashore for a visit?”

“Only one way to find out,” Sean
said.

“Good. Alright, Gunny, we’re
ready.”

CHAPTER 15

They left through the front door
and worked their way back to the road. With the warmth of the day and walking
into the wind, he was certain they could travel safely from the infected during
the daylight hours. Even though confident, Shane had set a quick pace.  The
girl moved along playfully, pretending she was leading the way. Sometimes she
would walk far ahead of him, stop in the road waiting for him to pass, and then
she would run back up the road, giggling. Shane cautioned her not to get too
far ahead, but she would just look back at him and smile. The large breakfast
and sugary drinks had done wonders to raise her spirits.

The terrain was open here, with
tall fields of grass standing on either side of the road. Beyond that, varying
from twenty to sometimes ten feet, were tall, dark forests. Occasionally, they
would pass a burnt home or a nearly destroyed house with broken windows. Shane
would slow the girl and walk beside her until they cleared those danger areas. Habitable
or not, houses were far and few between, so he hoped the infected population
would be just as sparse. As they walked, he would often drift to the gravel
shoulders of the road and check for tracks, bent blades of grass, or other
signs of movement from the infected.  He was always alert and kept a close eye
on the girl, but he still allowed her to play her games.

Walking—or more closely resembling
a skip—she stayed just feet ahead of him. He watched her suddenly stop. She
froze in place then backed toward him and when she turned, he saw fear in her
eyes. Shane hastened his steps and moved in beside her. He squatted down, and she
pulled herself into his left arm.

“What did you see?” he whispered to
her. Ella’s hand dropped to his pant leg and she gripped the fabric. Her left
hand rose and she pointed a finger at a far off bush.

Shane had grown to trust the girl’s
instincts over the past several days and raised his rifle in the direction she
pointed as a voice called out, “Whoa, didn’t mean to startle ya. You can relax
there, soldier boy, no need for none of that.”

A man’s hands rose from the bush,
followed by arms and a long, lanky body dressed in a hunter’s camouflage pants
and dark flannel shirt.  His hair was unkempt, his chin a matted attempt at
growing a beard. When he smiled, it revealed a mouth of blackened, broken teeth.
The man, hands now raised over his head, continued stepping toward the road,
speaking as he moved. “You ain’t gots be ah’scared of me, nah, I’m nuttin’ to
worry ’bout.”

Shane intensely observed the
strange man as he approached, keeping the rifle aimed center mass. Ella
crouched and pushed into him tightly. Shane was about to speak when he heard
another voice from behind. “Now, I’s the one you should be worried about,” the voice
called out.

Shane went to turn to look behind
him when he heard the hammer of a firearm lock back. “Oh no, boy, you just stay
right there. Damn, look at ya! You a big feller, ain’t ‘cha soldier?” he heard
the new voice call out.

Shane froze, looking ahead as the
first man continued walking toward him. “Stop where you are!” Shane yelled.

The first broken-toothed man
stopped, but lowered his arms. “Now, I told ya, you ain’t got nothing to worry
about,” the toothy man said, giggling as he lowered his hand to caress the
handle of a large Bowie knife on his belt.

Shane lifted the rifle and tucked
it tight into his shoulder. “Take another step, mister, and I will shoot you
dead,” he snarled, slowly rising to his feet. As he stood, Ella stayed with
him, hugging his leg.

Shane could hear the man behind him
move closer as his feet stepped onto the gravel behind him. Shane stepped right,
to the center of the road, pivoting so he could see the second man.  Short and
fat with a stocking cap pulled down over his brow, he was carrying a short-barreled
single shot shotgun with the hammer back. Shane kept his rifle in his shoulder
and aimed at the toothy man in front while looking from the corner of his eye
at the fat one behind and to the left.

“You stop or I’ll kill your friend.
I’m not giving you another warning,” Shane called out.

The fat man stopped moving and
squared up. Keeping the barrel in Shane’s direction, the toothy man raised his
right hand and showed a palm to his partner, signaling for him to stop.

“Now, is that any way for you to be
talking to strangers?  You’s up on our land, walking our road, and you
threatening to kill me?” the toothy man said, barely concealing a chuckle.

“What do you want?” Shane asked.

“We just looking to see what you
got, you know, in exchange for traveling our road,” the toothy man said.

Shane stepped again so that he
could now completely see the fat man while still keeping the rifle on the first
one. Ella followed him, holding his pant leg but not hindering his movement. “I
don’t have anything for you, now step aside and let us pass.”

The toothy man let out another manic
chuckle. “Ah hell, we’ll take the girl then,” he said as the fat man giggled.

Shane didn’t reply, but he kept the
rifle up. He could feel Ella’s arms trembling. His finger caressed the trigger,
he couldn’t take the shot. The man behind him would be able to fire before he
could turn and get a second round off.

“Now, why don’t you be a good soldier
boy and hand us that rifle whiles we talk about this,” the first man said.

Shane saw the fat man begin to
step. “I said don’t move!” Shane yelled. He held the rifle tight on the toothy
man, planted his feet, and prepared for a fight.

“Come on now, hand over yer rifle. If
we wanted you dead, Earl woulda already kilt ya,” Toothy said, causing the fat man
to giggle again.

Shane knew the only reason the man
hadn’t shot was because he was worried about hitting Ella. That or the gun
wasn’t loaded. He could tell by their looks that they weren’t hospitable to
travelers. Shane knew if he fired on Toothy, Fat Boy would get off a shot that
would no doubt hit him—and possibly Ella—from the distance they were standing
apart.

“Come on now, we ain’t asking again.
Toss me the damn rifle, boy. You do it now and we’ll let ya go,” Toothy now
yelled, losing his temper.

Shane relaxed his grip on the rifle.
Focusing, he could feel the pressure near his belt where he’d placed the
Walther pistol. He took a deep breath and squeezed the forward grip of the
rifle with his left hand and slowly he lifted his right hand from the butt
stock as he released the pistol grip.

“Okay, I’ll toss the rifle if you
promise you won’t hurt us,” Shane said, causing both men to giggle frantically.

Shane pulled the rifle out, holding
it in one hand. Instead of tossing it to Toothy, he turned and threw it underhand
to Fat Boy. The fat man smiled as the rifle sailed through the air. Assuming
his victim was now unarmed, Fat Boy took his eyes off of Shane for just a split
second. It was all Shane needed to use his right hand that was concealed from
the Fat Boy’s view. He reached under his jacket and pulled the pistol. Fat Boy
saw Shane’s quick movement, but by the time he recognized the handgun, it was
too late for him to bring the shotgun back on target.

Shane drew the pistol and rotated.
As he fully extended his arm he pulled the trigger twice; hitting Fat Boy in
the right shoulder and face. Toothy yelped a high pitch scream and Shane swung
his arm back in Toothy’s direction. The man hadn’t moved.

“Why’d you do that?” the man cried.

Shane ignored Toothy’s question. As
he slowly walked to Fat Boy, he kept the pistol aimed at Toothy. When he reached
the body, he kicked the shotgun from its grip, reached down, and retrieved his own
rifle. As he lifted it, Toothy lunged for him. Shane didn’t hesitate and fired
a single round, hitting the man low in the stomach. Toothy doubled over and let
out a loud wail as he dropped to the ground and rolled into the fetal position.

“Why’d you do that?” the man howled
again.

Shane slung his rifle and reached
back for the shotgun. He opened the breach and saw it was loaded with a
buckshot round. Shane removed the shell and tossed it to the street, then kept
hold of the weapon. Keeping the pistol on Toothy, he searched Fat Boy’s pockets
and found more 12 gauge shells and a set of keys.

“Where is your vehicle?” Shane
asked.

“What? We ain’t got no car,” Toothy
whined.

Shane walked closer to the wounded
man while dangling the keys in his hand. “Looks like you’re gut shot. Unless
you get some help quick you’re gonna die very…”

Interrupted by the moans of the
infected, Shane stopped and looked behind him. “Sounds like the gunfire woke
them early.”

“Okay, okay, if’in I tell ya,
you’ll take me with you?” Toothy pleaded.

Shane didn’t answer but stepped
closer. “Where’s your vehicle?”

“Come on now, you can’t leave me
out here.”

Another set of moans, this time
closer, sounded in the distance. Shane could hear snapping trees as they moved from
their hiding places deep in the woods.

“I’m leaving you here, but you have
a choice, you can tell me where your vehicle is and I’ll give you the shotgun. If
you don’t want to talk, then I really need to get going before your neighbors
arrive.”

The man lay on the ground wailing.
Shane shook his head and stepped off at a quick pace with Ella holding his belt.

“Okay, okay,” the man called out. “The
truck’s just over there, backed into that brush.”

Shane stared into the area Toothy
had indicated; he could just make out the metallic blue of a front fender.

“Alright,” Shane said as he lifted
the shotgun by the barrel and tossed it off to the side of the road. “There you
are, go get it.”

The man begged and pleaded, but it fell
on deaf ears. Shane lifted Ella and jogged in the direction of the truck. The
moans sounded like they were right on top of them by the time he reached the
cab. Shane threw the door open and tossed Ella onto the bench seat. He stripped
off his pack and threw it in beside her as he jumped into the truck, then
closed and locked the door.

As Shane struggled to start the
engine, he could see Toothy crawling across the pavement searching for the
shotgun round. A loud bang jolted the truck forward. Looking in the rear view mirror,
Shane could see one of the infected collide with the side of the vehicle. He
turned the key, pumped the pedal, and the engine roared to life. He heard a
scream, followed by a shotgun blast, over the sound of the vehicle and looked
to the road just as the man was swarmed by infected. He pulled the gear lever,
dropped the truck into drive, and floored the pedal. The bed bounced as the
truck fought for traction, throwing dirt and gravel as it crawled to the
shoulder, then squealed when the rubber grabbed pavement.

Shane raced forward, hitting
several of the infected things. He cut the wheel hard and fishtailed into a
slide as the truck’s tires gripped the road. He straightened out and saw that
several of them had made it to the bed of the truck.  Shane accelerated until
he felt the steering wheel vibrate in his hands. “Ella, get on the floor,” he
yelled and watched as the girl obeyed and dropped to the floor. She held her
hands over her ears, trying to block out the infected screams.

Shane hit the brakes hard and
turned the wheel to the left just enough to put the truck into a controlled
skid and eject most of infected from the vehicle. He hit the gas pedal again
and raced forward—all but one had been thrown clear. In his side mirror, he
could see their broken and twisted bodies on the road struggling to get up. The
remaining creature was still lying stunned in the back of the truck against the
tailgate and trying to sit up; its arm looked broken.  Shane hit the brakes
again, causing the thing to fly forward and slam against the cab of the truck. He
locked the vehicle into park and then stepped out onto the road. He pulled the
pistol and methodically put two rounds in the thing’s head, dropped the
tailgate, and dumped the creature to the ground.

Shane walked away from the body and
leaned against the tailgate, letting his heartbeat return to normal. As he
stood there listening, he could hear the sounds of the engine gurgling a loud
idle. He cautiously returned to the cab and closed the door behind him. He
swallowed hard and looked down at Ella on the floor. “You can come up now,” he
said.

Shane watched as the girl climbed
up onto the bench seat without emotion. She looked around the cab of the truck
and buckled her seat belt. Shane grinned, then put the truck back into gear and
started forward, now at a modest speed. He looked at the gas gauge and saw that
he barely had a quarter of a tank of fuel. It wouldn’t get him far, but he
could at least find shelter before it ran out.

CHAPTER 16

The small shore team was led down a
long dock where an assortment of boats were crowded in and tied off to both
sides. Farther out, a larger flotilla of watercraft were anchored and tied
together.  Cordell noticed Brad looking at the cluster of boats and stopped.

“Salvagers mostly; some fisherman,
hard types, but we put up with them because they bring in the supplies,” he
explained.

Gunner moved up next to Brad and
stared at the ships, large flat-bottomed riverboats, and fishing trawlers. “If
they are bringing in all of the supplies, then why do they need you?”

Cordell laughed. “Don’t say that too
loud, I don’t think they have figured it out yet.”

“So, what do you trade them, you
know, in exchange for their goods?” Brad asked.

Cordell looked down, then away from
Brad. “It doesn’t work like that. The people living here… they make the
trades. And, well, the rangers charge them a tax of sorts to stay at the fort.
Most are required to pay in supplies, food, and fresh water in exchange to live
inside the walls. Others provide services like security or maintenance.”

Brad grabbed Cordell’s jacket as he
turned to walk away. “You charge the survivors a tax? And how in the hell do
they have anything left to trade with them?” he said pointing to the clustered
ships.

Cordell pulled away and answered
over his shoulder as he walked on, “They find a way.”

Brad pushed Howard ahead of him and
followed the others to the gates of Fort Sumter. Standing at the head of the
walkway, two guards were high above them on the walls. Looking right, Brad
could see an open area outside the fort’s walls, Crates and other bits of drift
wood and garbage were piled recklessly. Farther on, a hastily built stone wall
separated the fort from the sandbars.  Men in civilian jackets patrolled the
area with axes and rifles. As they approached the gate, Cordell yelled up at
the guards and, after a brief exchange, a heavy wooden door slid open to allow
them to pass. The interior of the camp was a former parade ground congested
with shelters and had a narrow, muddy path leading down the center to a large,
black painted building.

A heavy, musty smoke hung over the
camp. The stench of open latrines and burning garbage was everywhere. The fort
was ringed with high masonry walls and ancient gun positions, but was now
filled with stacked and guarded supplies. Brad saw women feeding children with
gaunt faces, plastic basins and pails positioned to catch rainwater, and men
cooking small game over wood fires. As he looked at them, he thought back to
the warehouse filled with survivors in Newfoundland. Their small refuge in the
wilderness was paradise compared to the squalor he was seeing here.

Brad stopped and looked down an
aisle between the roughly constructed shelters where a child was urinating into
a bucket. Cordell stopped and yelled for him to keep moving. Brad looked at him.

“Excuse me, Gunnery Sergeant, what
the hell is going on here? Who is in charge of this camp?” Brad said with
obvious disgust, waiving his hands at the filth around him. “Why are these
people living like this?”

Cordell’s face turned red as he
struggled for the right words. “Like I said Sergeant, the park ranger and
the state troopers are in charge,” he spit with a sarcastic tone. “Or at least
they act like they are. I know what you’re thinking, this place looks like a
third world refugee camp. And dammit you're right, but the sorry piece of shit
in there won’t listen.”

Gunner moved in next to Brad.
“That’s no excuse, Gunny. Why is a park ranger running a refugee camp?”

Cordell clenched his teeth and let
out an exaggerated laugh. “Possession is nine-tenths of the law, brother. This
camp was up and running when the boys and I got here. We try to help out as
much as we can, but as long as the troopers are backing the rangers, we can’t
do shit to fix things. Not like I can walk on into his office and take over.”

Meyers’ cough interrupted them. “This
is all very interesting business, but it’s also not our mission, mate. How
about we keep this moving along?”

Gunner nodded and waved Cordell
forward. Cordell stepped off, walking up the litter-strewn path and then to a
concrete walkway that eventually led to the black building. Cordell stopped at
a set of stairs and briefly spoke to a guard clad in a partial police officer’s
uniform. The guard quickly stepped aside and allowed them to pass. Brad took a
last look around and pushed Doctor Howard ahead of him as he took up the rear. They
were led past a number of caged entrances and finally to a set of glass doors.

The room inside looked to have once
been a museum. The walls were covered with broken display cases and old
artifacts were piled in a corner. They walked through living areas filled with makeshift
cots before coming to a closed office door. Cordell stepped forward and pounded
on the door with his fist before opening it and walking in. He left the door
open behind him so Gunner and the others followed him into the dimly lit office.
Brad guided Howard in ahead of him then moved along the wall to the back of the
office.

The room was rough and dusty. An
old wooden desk with a worn leather swivel chair, some roughed in shelving, and
a long leather sofa under a window greeted them. The sofa was occupied by a man
wearing a state trooper’s uniform leaning back at one end of it with his hat
over his eyes. Another man in a green and tan uniform sat at the wooden desk
and looked up as they filed into the room. Brad noticed a number of empty
liquor bottles stacked against a far wall and more in a wastebasket near the
door. The man in the tan uniform lifted a cup to his mouth, then turned to look
at Cordell. “These the ones from the Canadian boat?”

Cordell nodded and said, “They are
all with the military, looking for transport up the river.”

The man with the hat pulled over
his eyes grunted, “Why the hell would you want to go up there?”

Gunner took a deep breath and
looked around the room ignoring the question. “Excuse me, who’s in charge here?”

The man in tan gave Gunner a stern
look. “Well, that would be me.”

“And just who is me?” Gunner
said using the most authoritative voice he could muster.

The man in tan sat confused for a
moment before he pushed away from his desk, rose to his feet, and walked around
the desk to face Gunner. He was a big man, but not in a fit way. He wore a
simple park ranger’s uniform, pockets undone, and the front open to reveal a
yellowed T-shirt.

“Why… I’m Ranger Nevens! Head ranger
here at Fort Sumter!”

The commotion caused the resting
state trooper to lift his cap and survey the men in the room. The trooper, for
the first time, seemed to realize that the office was filled with several
frowning armed men and that the odds were not in his favor; his hand slowly
drifted to his holster.

“Yeah, let’s not do that,” Gunner
said as his own hand stroked the grip of his holstered 1911. “Ranger Nevens,
you are relieved, this fort is now under military control and I thank you for
your service.”

“Now hold up, gawd dammit! You
can’t come in here and take over after everything we’ve done.”

Gunner looked him in the eyes.
“Yeah, we already had the walking tour and I’ve seen what you’ve done.”

Nevens looked to the trooper, still
seated, and said, “Well? Are you going to do something?”

The trooper pushed his hat down
tight to his head, then yawned before getting to his feet. “Like the man said,
they are in charge now.” He stood and straightened his uniform then walked out
of the office, leaving the ranger alone with the men.

Gunner continued to stare Nevens
down. “So, are we going to have a problem?”

Nevens, now alone, backed away from
Gunner and leaned against the desk. “I welcomed you here! I sent a team to meet
you when we could have ignored you. You can’t do this. Gunnery Sergeant
Cordell, please escort this man back to his boat!”

Cordell smirked and ignored the ranger;
he walked to the sofa and dropped into the trooper’s previous spot. “Sorry,
buddy, you ain’t giving the orders anymore; time to make things right by the
people out there.”

Gunner exhaled and walked to the
door. Pulling it open he said, “Nevens, you can leave now.”

The ranger, red in the face,
stopped to put on a heavy green jacket and tan ball cap. He gave Gunner a last
angered look then walked to the door. Before stepping out, he stopped and
looked back at Cordell. “I’ll be in my quarters.”

Gunner shook his head. “No, ranger,
I need you to gather your things and move onto the parade field. Find a nice
spot with the others. While you’re there maybe you can come up with some
suggestions to make it more hospitable.”

Brad pushed to the back of the room
with Howard behind him as Nevens stood in the doorway scowling. Gunner looked
him in the eye, “That’s all, Ranger, move out.”

Gunner brushed Nevens off with his
hand, moved to the door, and closed it.

“Bloody hell, you strayed a bit off
course there, didn’t ya, mate?!” Meyers chimed in.

“I didn’t see you standing up to
voice your disagreement,” Gunner laughed.

He moved around the desk and sat in
the leather swivel chair, rummaged through the drawers, and stopped when he
found a half pint of rum. He lifted a small glass and blew the dust out before
filling it with the dark liquid.

“No reason we can’t make things
better for these people while we make our next move.” Gunner paused and took a
long swig of the rum, he grimaced and coughed, “That is some rot gut right
there. Gunnery Sergeant Cordell, can you find this riverboat captain and have
him brought to me?”

CHAPTER 17

The truck bounced and jerked as the
front tire dropped into a deep pothole. Shane slowed his speed even more as he
navigated the broken road. He looked down at the truck’s gas gauge—the needle
drifting just below the E. They’d passed several buildings, most burnt or with
kicked-in doors and broken windows. Nothing inviting, but with the engine about
to sputter to death, he was growing nervous that they would be walking again
soon.

Shane slowed the truck to steer
around a downed tree. As he moved past it, another tree from the opposite side
of the road forced him into a serpentine pattern.  Instantly, he felt the hairs
on the back of his neck begin to buzz. He’d had the same feelings before as a turret
gunner in Iraq moments before an ambush or a road side bomb. He had to make a
split second decision to stop or go back. Trusting instinct, he put his foot
hard to the pedal. The truck tires screeched in response as they fought the
asphalt, coming out of the turn he was navigating through the downed trees.  Shane
heard the gunshots before he saw the shooter.

The windshield spider webbed. Ella
screamed as Shane reached out with his right hand and forced her flat on the seat
while he struggled to maintain control of the truck. He drove the vehicle hard
through the remaining curve and into a straightway. Ahead, he could see the makeshift
roadblock of old cars parked on the road at 45 degree angles. The attackers had
formed the perfect bottle neck ambush.  Two men stood behind the fender of the farthermost
right car with weapons raised and muzzles flashing. Already committed, Shane
kept his foot on the accelerator and sped for the small gap between the cars. Just
before impact, he cut the wheel hard to the right and the truck collided with
the car that the men were hiding behind. The crash almost bucked Shane from his
seat, but the weight of the large truck and the momentum barreled them through
the barricade as he regained control.

He heard the motor squeal from the
fan being forced into the radiator and engine block. The truck pulled hard to
the right. He could feel the resistance in the steering wheel, indicating a
flat tire. More gunshots shattered the back window and a single round punctured
a hole in the bench seat just above Ella’s head. Shane let the right hand pull
take him off the road, gunned the engine for all it had left, and raced to the
tree line. The truck bounced hard as the rubber left the steel rim, causing it
to gouge into the earth. Shane kept on the engine but was losing speed.

Desperately, he cut the wheel into
the direction of the flat tire and hit the parking brake. The truck stopped abruptly,
barely keeping the vehicle between him and the ambushers. The gunfire increased
as rounds skipped overhead and pinged into the body of the truck. Shane forced
the driver’s door open with his boot. Keeping low, he grabbed Ella by her
wrist, dragged her across the bench seat, and then positioned her behind the
rear tire. The truck had sunk into the ground up to its floorboards. The soft
earth and steel truck body now made for good cover.

Shane pulled his bag from the cab
and left it on the ground. He crouched low and duck walked to Ella’s side. After
making sure she was okay, he readied his rifle, then dropped low to crawl near
the back bumper. He could hear the men shouting panicked instructions to each
other now. One appeared to be hurt—probably when the truck crashed through the
barricade. Shane caught movement from the corner of his eye. A man ran bent at
the waist and headed in Shane’s direction. Shane lifted his rifle, aimed center
mass, leading slightly and pulled the trigger a single time. The man took a
final long step before falling face first into the mud.

Shane heard more shouting, but
directed now. He held his breath and tried to listen. He could tell they were
yelling to him, but he couldn’t make out the words. Shane crawled under the
edge of the exposed tailgate—careful to remain concealed—and stared intently in
the direction of the roadblock.  One man was in a sitting position against the
crushed car he’d hit. Another was standing behind the far vehicle yelling in
his direction. They were still too far away for Shane to understand him and he
didn’t care what they had to say; they’d shot at him, that made them his enemy.
Shane turned back to Ella and told her to wait by the truck and he’d be back as
soon as he could.

Shane knew he wouldn’t have long
before the infected showed up; he would have to work quickly. He put his head
to the ground and crawled low through the high grass, letting the bandit’s
shouting guide him. As he drew closer, he could begin to make out the words. They
were asking him to surrender, to come out and they wouldn’t shoot him. Shane
continued moving at a slight angle away from the voice, hoping to come out of
the grass in a flanking position.

The shouting stopped, but Shane was
now close enough to hear the muffled conversation between the two men. He
focused on their words as he slowly worked his way closer to the roadside. The
wounded man argued that the truck’s occupants were dead. He wanted to leave and
return to the camp before the infected showed up. The other wanted to know
where his friends were, the owners of the truck. Shane lifted his head slightly;
he was within fifty meters of the roadblock now. He’d come out of the grass and
onto the pavement ahead of them. The seated man was mumbling now. The second asked
for cover, then began slowly stalking in the direction of the truck and Ella.

Shane hid in the grass waiting for
the man to walk beyond him. Once the man cleared Shane’s position, he quickly
popped up to a knee with the rifle aimed at the man’s back. He called for the bandit
to stop; instead, the man turned toward Shane. Two pulls of the trigger, and
the bandit fell to the ground. Shane turned back to the wounded man and held
his rifle on him as he patrolled forward. The man was whimpering incoherently now.
Shane approached cautiously.  As he neared, he could see the man’s bloodied
torso and an obvious broken leg judging from the angle of his boot.

The wounded man was young, mid-twenties
maybe, but his condition and nappy beard made him look older. He was slender
with a pale face and gray, bloodshot eyes. His flannel shirt was ripped and
soiled, his denim pants covered in grime and dirt.

“Get your arms out and to your
sides! Open your hands, show me your palms!” Shane yelled.

The man whimpered, but slowly
stretched his arms. Shane moved closer and quickly searched him for a weapon. Finding
a 9mm pistol with the slide locked back, Shane kicked the handgun away. He then
grabbed the man by the shoulder and dragged him screaming farther onto the road.
Keeping his weapon on the wounded man, Shane hastily searched the remaining
vehicle. He found keys and a large red duffle bag of food on the back seat.
Shane returned to the wounded man as he visually scanned the tree line for the
infected.

Shane walked back to his prisoner
and stood over him. “Where is your camp? How many there?”

The injured man grunted and attempted
a roll to his side. Shane lifted his boot and stepped on the man’s broken leg, producing
a scream in agony.

“You need to stop with all of that
noise. I’m surprised the infected aren’t already on us.”

The man stopped screaming. He held
a blood-covered arm to his lips and breathed heavily into the sleeve.

“Now I’m going to ask again, where
is your camp and how many?”

The wounded man grunted and rolled
to his back, looking up at Shane with sunken eyes. “How many? You already
killed us all man!” he cried. “David over there and Taylor, that was all of
us.”

“You brought this on yourselves
when you shot at me.”

The man’s mouth frothed with bloody
foam. He gritted his teeth and said, “We shot because you have Earl’s truck.”

“Oh, gotcha… I’d say Earl let me borrow
it, but that’d be a lie; Earl’s dead—and his buddy. Now last time, where’s the
camp?” Shane lifted his boot and pushed the toe of it against the man’s outward
bent leg. The man flinched and pulled away.

“Okay, okay, but you got to bring me
with you. I’ll show you,” he gurgled.

Shane began to hear the faint moans
of the infected in the distance. They were calling to each other with the
baying sounds they used when they were on the hunt, probably tracking him from
his last encounter with Earl. Shane walked to the still intact newer model
Chevy sedan, pushed a button on the key fob, and the trunk popped open. Shane reached
inside the trunk and used his knife to cut away the escape release wire. Quickly,
he turned back and grabbed the wounded man. He rolled him to his belly and
forced his arms behind his back. The man screamed and struggled with protests
that Shane ignored. After being hogtied with the wire, he pulled off the man’s
belt and tightly tied it around his ankles.  Shane dragged the man screaming
across the pavement to the car and forced his body into the trunk.

He whistled a familiar call and saw
Ella appear near the back of the disabled pickup. He circled his arm in the air
and watched as she slowly moved in his direction. As Shane ran toward her, he
told her to get into the car. Then he continued to the truck and retrieved his
rucksack. On the return trip, he saw the first of the infected move out of the
trees near the roadblock. Shane spotted the man he’d shot earlier; dead on the
ground and still holding a SKS rifle. Shane slung his M4 and retrieved the dead
man’s rifle as he jogged back to the car. He raised the weapon and took aimed
shots at the nearest infected.

He knocked the first of them to the
ground with several hits to the chest. Shane continued firing into the
approaching infected as he moved to the open door of the sedan. When he saw they
were running directly at him now, Shane fired rapidly until the SKS was dry,
then turned and tossed the empty weapon into the back seat. Shane dropped into the
car and pulled the door shut just as one of them launched its body onto the
hood. He put the key in the ignition and could hear the car respond with
dinging that he could barely make out over the screaming of the infected and the
terrified yelling of the man in the trunk.

The key turned and the engine
started. Shane put the car in reverse and backed away from the roadblock as
more infected impacted the car. He did a three point turn then gunned the
engine, causing the infected to fall off of the vehicle. Shane had the car
going straight down the center of the blacktop road. He looked over at Ella
next to him; she was sitting with her seatbelt on staring straight ahead. Shane
reached across the seat and patted her leg.

“You okay?” he asked her.

She looked up at him.  She had dirt
on her face that left a brown streak as she blinked away a tear. Her hair was
matted and filled with leaves and bits of grass. She clenched her eyes again
then opened them slowly. “Did they want to hurt us, Shane?”

Shane coughed, trying to hide his
emotions. “Yeah, Ella, they wanted to hurt us.”

“Were they bad men? Like on the
boat?”

The man in the trunk screamed again
and banged against the backseat from inside the trunk.

“Yeah, they were bad men, but this
one is going to show us someplace safe to stay tonight.”

Shane ignored the screaming and put
his hand on Ella’s head. She grabbed his wrist and held it to her face.

CHAPTER 18

Brad sat at an end of the sofa with
Doctor Howard next to him. Meyers and Gunner leaned across the desk, obsessing
over a map of the local rivers. The doctor fidgeted and ran his fingers through
his pockets nervously. The unrelenting motion agitated Brad. A knock at the
office door finally caused Howard to stop moving and sit upright as the knob
turned and the door crept open. Cordell peeked in, announced he’d returned with
the captain, and then motioned an older man dressed in canvas pants and a
yellow jacket through the door ahead of him.

Cordell made introductions and showed
the man a seat on a wobbly wooden chair. Gunner offered the captain a drink
which he readily accepted. The captain pushed the tin cup through a heavy white
beard and drank thirstily.

“Ahh, it’s good,” he bellowed.

Gunner laughed. “It’s an acquired
taste, I suppose.”

The captain finished then held the
cup up. Gunner walked around the desk with the bottle, sat on the desktop, and
refilled the captain’s glass. The captain grinned and sipped this time. “So,
what is it you’ve brought me here for?  What is it you be wanting?  Booze?
Bullets? Women, maybe?”

Gunner looked at him. “Really, you
can get all of those things?”

“Sure, and if I don’t have it, I
know where to find it.”

Meyers chuckled from the corner of
the room and rounded the desk, finding a place to sit next to Gunner. “I don’t
think we will be requiring such fine things from you. What we require is
transportation.”

The captain shot Meyers a puzzled
looked. “Transportation? I assume that’s your Coast Guard vessel anchored in
the harbor. Why would you need me with that sort of horse power?”

Gunner answered, “Cap’n, we need to
get up the river.”

The captain took another long sip
then shook his head. “Please, call me David.” He took another sip, then took a
deep breath. “No, nobody goes up the river except the salvagers. I bring folks
back here on my return trip. I’ll salvage supplies, get you what you want, but
I don’t take passengers up the river; too dangerous.”

Gunner offered the bottle and
refilled his cup. “Well, that’s where we need to go, so we are asking you
politely to take us.”

David shook his head again and
squinted. “Why would you want to go up river? Nothing up there but death.”

“We’re looking for a girl,” Howard
shouted, causing Meyers to scowl.

“Ahh, so it is women you’re
after?” David said, grinning,

“No. She’s injured or maybe…”
Howard paused, looking down at the leather satchel in his lap. “We have to find
her, she has been missing since Fort Collins—“

“Collins?!” David exclaimed,
interrupting Howard.

Meyers lifted the map and pushed it
to the captain. “Yes, it’s a distance up the—.”

“I know where in the hell it’s at.
Tell me about this girl, why do you want her?” David asked, now looking
agitated.

Howard swallowed hard. “She’s a patient—”

Brad held up his hand, stopping
Howard from continuing. He looked at David and could see the look of
recognition in his face.

Brad leaned forward on the sofa and
looked the captain in the eye. “What is it about Fort Collins?”

“Huh…  It’s nothing.”

Brad stared him down. “Cut the
bullshit. I saw the look you gave when you heard it mentioned.”

David exhaled deeply. “I picked up
a soldier on the river; he claimed to have come from there. He was traveling
with a girl.”

Cordell grunted. “Some coincidence.
How do we know you’re not lying?”

Brad held up his hand again. “No,
he’s telling the truth. Where are they now?”

David looked worried. He emptied
the cup again and held it to Gunner, who shook his head and pointed to Brad, as
if telling him to answer the question. David took a deep breath and sighed.

“There was a problem on the boat—a
disagreement among the passengers—the soldier asked to be put ashore.”

“Put ashore?  Where?” Howard asked
nearly shouting.

The captain shook his head avoiding
eye contact. “It doesn’t matter. The girl was infected.”

“What makes you say that?” Howard
asked.

“She was bitten; I saw it myself,
on her arm,” David explained.

Howard quickly opened the leather
satchel and searched through the stack of papers until finding the photograph
he was searching for, and then he held it up to the captain.

“The wound, did it look like this?”
Howard asked.

David stared at the picture, then
looked away and held the cup up to Gunner. “Please.”

Gunner stared back at him. “The
wound didn’t look like that, did it?”

“No, it was healing,” David gasped.

Howard jumped to his feet. “I knew
it.  She is here; we need to leave right away!”

Meyers looked at David. “You said
they went ashore. Can you take us there?”

David became restless in his seat
and looked as if he wanted to end the conversation. “I… I could take you to the
general area.  It’s not far from here; less than a day under power. But I’m not
sure that you would find anything. It’s been some time and—“

“Wait,” Brad interrupted. “Just why,
exactly, would put a small girl ashore when you were a day out from the fort?”

David held his hands in his lap. Using
his right hand to squeeze the fingers of his left, he avoided eye contact. “I’ll
take you, but we will need to leave soon. And my men won’t be leaving the boat,
and we won’t be waiting for you.”

“Aye, mate, why don’t you answer
the question; why did they leave your boat?” Meyers asked again.

“I said I would take you, do you
want to travel up river or not?” David said, losing his temper. He got to his
feet and looked to Cordell. “I’ll ready my crew; we leave as soon as it gets
dark.”

“At night? Why at night?” Brad
asked.

David looked at him sternly.  “We know
what to expect from them at night.  During the day they are unpredictable. I
find it safer to have my entire crew up and alert while the infected are most
active. We sleep when they sleep and we travel when they travel.”  David turned
toward the door, then stopped and looked back. “My boat travels at dusk; if
you’re not aboard, we won’t be waiting.”

David left the room and closed the
door hard behind him. Brad got to his feet and walked across the room, stopping
near the door. “Cordell, can we trust him?”

Cordell laughed. “Hell no—don’t
trust anyone here.”

Meyers got up from the desk and
stretched. “Fair enough, can you arrange transport for us to the barge?”

“Of course, consider it done.”

Gunner pointed to the door. “Okay
then, the boat will stay in the harbor. We will leave a radio and some comms
gear so we can keep in touch as long as we are within range. There’s an officer
on board and several men that will be staying behind.  I’d recommend you bring
her ashore and place her in charge of the camp.”

Cordell smiled and stood.  “We will
make things right here. But first, let’s get you moving.”

CHAPTER 19

The road widened.  Tall grass on
both sides led up to hilly terrain and un-harvested fields before entering dark
tree lines. They passed a cluster of small homes with broken windows and broken
doors. Shane drove until they were in his rear view, then slowed the car and
put it in park. He left the sedan in the middle of the road with the engine
running. The man in the back had stopped his protests, but he could hear him
moving around once the car had stopped.

Shane looked at Ella and told her
to get into the back seat. He opened the door and reached down to press the
trunk release button. He heard the click and pop of the trunk. Then the wounded
man in the back began thrashing again. Shane stepped out of the car and grabbed
the pistol from his belt, walked to the back of the car, and saw the man look
up at him. The man opened his mouth to speak but before he could, Shane reached
down and pulled the man from the trunk by his arm and let him fall hard to the
ground.

He grabbed the man’s shirt and
dragged him to the passenger’s side door, then stood him up on his one good leg.
“I’m going to sit you in the car and you’re going to lead me to the camp. You
understand?”

The injured man clenched his teeth
and nodded his head.

Shane pulled the wounded man away
from the car and opened the door. He pushed him onto the seat, allowing the man
to hit his head on the roof as he entered. He grabbed the man’s shirt, pulled
him upright, and then wrapped the seatbelt tightly around his waist. Shane
pulled a length of cord from a cargo pocket, bound the man’s hands to the lap
belt, and used another length to tie the man’s neck to the headrest support. “You
all comfy?” he asked, not expecting an answer.

Shane closed the door and walked
around, dropping into the driver’s seat.

“Where to?”

The man grunted and turned his head
to look at Shane. “Water.”

Shane grinned. “You’ll drink when
we get there.”

The man put his head down. Shane
reached over, grabbed the back of his neck and forced him to look ahead. He
demanded, “Now where to, or I’ll dump you here.”

“Just drive, you’re going the right
way.”

Shane put the car in gear and
accelerated, staying to the center of the blacktop road. The man mumbled and,
again, asked for something to drink. Shane saw Ella looking at him in the
rearview mirror, so he nodded to her. “Ella, there is a bottle in the bag. Would
you get it for me please?”

After a moment of rustling, Ella
stood on the backseat and handed Shane the bottle. He twisted off the cap and
held it to the wounded man’s lips, allowing him to drink. Shane pulled the
bottle away and placed it in a cup holder. “So, where are we going?”

“It’s not far,” the man mumbled.

“Who were they?  The others at the
roadblock, they family?” Shane asked.

The man shook his head. “No, they
were friends of my brother Earl. He was out huntin' with Gary.  We was waiting
for him to come back when we saw you driving his truck.”

“Oh yeah, I remember Earl; short
guy, fat, built like 250 pounds of chewed bubble gum? Yeah… good ol’ Earl. So tell
me, you always setup roadblocks and shoot at children when you go out huntin’?”

“He’s dead, isn’t he?”

“Very,” Shane said, not taking his
eyes of the road. “So what was the plan? Rob and murder; little bit of kiddie rape?
I’d heard there were folks like you out here, but never ran into any.”

“Honest, mister, it’s nothing like
that; they was just out hunting for deer and such.”

“It’s a good story, I’ll give you
that. So, how many times have you done this sort of thing?  Send the inbred
trash out ahead on the road to spook up unsuspecting travelers and you all hang
back, jerking each other off, waiting to ambush anyone that makes it past
them?”

The wounded man looked away,
ignoring Shane’s comments.

“Don’t worry kid, I won’t kill ya today.
But if I catch you in a lie, or if I find more of your inbred cousins at this
camp, I will make the last moments of your life very painful,” Shane said in a
calm voice.

“Why are you doing this?”

Shane feigned laughter and ignored
the question. “What’s your name kid?”

“Kyle,” he answered.

“Kyle, everything I do, I do for
her.”

“You kill for her?”

“No, I protect her and I destroy
anything that tries to harm her—”

“It’s right up here, follow the
white fence,” Kyle interrupted using his neck to point out a quickly
approaching high fence skinned in white sheet metal.

The fence was tall and set back off
the road. Mounds of stacked cars and other junk could be seen piled high at
points. Shane slowed the car and carefully eased over to the shoulder of the
road. He put the car in park and killed the engine. Shane sat silently for a
minute, hushing Kyle when he tried to speak. He opened the door and slowly
walked to the front of the car while listening for sounds. He climbed onto the
hood and moved to the roof of the sedan.

He could just barely see inside the
compound. As it appeared from the outside, it was definitely a scrap yard. Piles
of sorted metal were scattered around a central building while rows of smashed
and stacked cars made up the far sides of the lot. From what Shane could tell,
the high fence surrounded the entire compound. He stood waiting and listening;
finally satisfied he was alone, he walked back down from the roof and reentered
the car.

“How do we get in?”

“The gate’s just ahead.  There’s a
combo lock on the fence post.”

Shane put the car in gear and
continued up the road to where a small gravel drive veered off from the
blacktop. He pulled the car off the road and wheeled up to the front gate. Kyle
explained there was a small metallic box with a cipher lock welded to one of
the gate’s arms. Shane stopped just in front of it.

“No surprises, right, Kyle?”

“No, it’s good. There used to be
dogs, but we had to shoot 'em because they wouldn’t stop barking at night,”
Kyle said.

“Maybe you should have shot your
brother and his friends instead. What’s the code?”

“Junior and senior’s numbers,” Kyle
answered.

“What?”

“Eighty-eight, zero-three... ain’t
you into NASCAR?”

Shane ignored him and cautiously
walked to the gate with his rifle at the ready. He moved as close to the
vertical arm that held the cipher lock as he could, and carefully peered inside.
No movement; a number of plastic drums and some boxes scattered around a gravel
drive. Farther back, stood the structure. The windows were all shuttered and a steel
door marked the end of the dirt walkway leading up to it. Shane stepped back
and entered the numbers into the lock and turned the knob; he felt the lock
click and the gate slid freely in his hand.

He pushed the gate open just enough
so that he could get the sedan through. He quickly closed it afterwards, then
drove the car up and past the single building before he backed the car in and cut
the engine. He opened his door and stepped out, looked around briefly, then
opened the back door and held Ella’s hand as she jumped out and onto the gravel
drive. Shane closed the door and walked to the metal door of the structure. As
he walked toward the door, he could hear Kyle yelling to let him out of the car.
Shane ignored him. There was a small chair next to the door. He told Ella to
sit there and wait for him; if she needed anything, she should call for him.

Shane took a look back at the car
and saw Kyle still securely strapped into the seat. He walked along the porch
of the building and checked the knob. It turned freely in his hand. He let his
M4 rifle hang from its sling while he drew the smaller Walther pistol. Shane
turned the knob and pushed the door in.  It swung open silently on well-oiled
hinges. Light shone into the room from the open door, but when Shane leaned and
peeked inside, he was surprised to see a low wattage light glowing dimly from
the ceiling.

The room looked like a business
space; a long counter was scattered with rusted car parts and bolts.  Along a
wall was a wooden bench, and on a table sat a mold-covered coffee pot. Shane
stepped completely into the room, then shuffled to the right so that his back
was against the wall. A green ledger book and cash register were on the far end
of the counter, numerous automotive posters and calendars decorated a wall. A
large steel sign on the counter read Douglas Used Auto Parts. There was
a break at the right end of the counter that led to a doorway.

Shane followed it to hall.  Its
floor was made of smoothed concrete. Immediately to the right he found a small
office furnished with a wooden desk covered with old Playboy magazines and
crumpled food wrappers. The room was small, musty, and dimly lit by the same
type of low-watt bulb hanging from the ceiling. Shane reached in and pulled the
door shut before he continued down the hallway. He passed a filthy restroom
with a propped open door and some type of cleaning closet with stiff mops and
rusted buckets. The hallway ended at a heavy steel door with another dim light
hanging above it. Again the knob turned freely, so Shane turned it and pushed
the door open. A large automotive garage, smelling of oil and gasoline and at
least sixty feet in length with five large overhead doors on the right wall,
greeted him. The two nearest doors were closed and a sort of living arrangement
was formed in front of them. As Shane walked past, he saw old couches and box
spring mattresses. In a corner was a large pile of women’s clothing articles as
well as numerous pieces of luggage and duffle bags.

This was where they lived, he
thought. Shane could see an old camp stove used for cooking, a large truck tire
rim filled with wood embers from a recent campfire, stacked cardboard
containers that held canned goods, and empty food boxes and wrappers. Shane
patrolled through the space to the end where the last three doors were left open.
There were oil drips on the floor inside where cars had been parked. This
must be where Earl kept his truck, Shane thought to himself, looking at the
muddy tire tracks and using the toe of his boot to scuff the fresh oil drips. Shane
exited the building and followed it back around to the front where he found
Ella still sitting in the chair.

She followed him back to the car
and Shane drove it around the building, into the garage, and killed the engine.
He got out and pulled a number of chains that quickly closed all of the open
bay doors. He walked around to the backseat and opened Ella’s door, then pointed
to one of the old sofas in the living area. She quickly obeyed and exited the
car. Shane moved to the passenger side and opened Kyle’s door. He removed the
cord from his neck and wrists but kept his hands and ankles bound.

“You sure there’s nobody here?”
Shane asked him.

“No, there’s nobody else,” he
grunted.

“Okay, Kyle, here’s how I see it. I
can hang you by your wrists from one of these chains here,” Shane said pointing
to a number of chains and pulleys connected to the block and tackle hoists
attached to the ceiling. “But I figure you’d be very uncomfortable and noisy,
and that would prevent my girl from resting.”

“Yeah, I don’t like that idea either,”
Kyle said, looking at Shane fearfully.

Shane looked around the room. “I
guess I could bring you over there and set you down on one of those mattresses.”
Shane looked towards Ella, then back at Kyle. “I don’t know, Kyle, maybe I
should just kill you now. Seems it would be a whole lot easier and save me a
great deal of trouble.”

“No. Honest, I ain’t gonna be no
trouble. Look at me, I’m all beat up anyhow. I can’t do nothin' to you,” Kyle
begged.

Shane stood, contemplating the idea.
He looked over and saw Ella staring back at him with sad eyes. Shane leaned
over and whispered into Kyle’s ear, “Okay, but if you cause us any problems I
will bleed you out.”

CHAPTER 20

The deck of the small riverboat was
empty. David was pacing nervously, shouting instructions to the rest of the
crew as lines were being pulled up and engines started. Brad moved along the
plank wood deck and a crewman indicated for him to drop his gear against a rail.
The boat was nearly fifty feet long and twenty feet wide, more of a floating barge
than boat—probably used to transport crates of goods up and down the river in
better days. A white planked pilothouse divided the barge into two halves. Parts
of the white shack and some of the deck looked to have been recently repaired. Scorched
and splintered bits of wood still remained.

David moved toward Gunner and spoke
loudly so they all could hear. “I’ll be bringing the rest of the crew on
shortly; you are all to remain on the aft deck. Nobody goes inside, nobody goes
up to the bow. Any questions?”

Gunner nodded and pointed to the
fresh pine planks and burnt decking near the corner of the pilothouse. “You
doing some remodeling?”

“It’s dangerous out there; we had
some trouble on our last cruise,” David said, pointing to the distant
shoreline.

Gunner walked closer to the
repaired bits of the pilothouse and pointed at the unpainted bits of plank.
“Burn marks and frag bits. So the Primals are throwing grenades now?”

David looked away toward a pair of
incoming small boats. “Like I said, it’s dangerous out there. Here comes your
crew, stick to the aft of the barge and I’ll have you at your destination by
morning.”

David turned and walked into the
pilothouse, leaving a pair of crewman to help guide in the small boats. Brad
saw Doctor Howard standing alone holding his pack, so he guided him to the rail
and told him to drop his bag. Howard sat on the deck with his back to the rail
as Brad stood over him with his rifle in his hands.  Gunner and Meyers were
standing near an opening in the aft deck, coordinating the transfer of gear and
personnel from the other ship. The small boats pushed off unceremoniously and
motored back into the harbor in the direction of the Coast Guard boat.

Once the crowd cleared from the
opening in the rail, Brad could see bags of gear stacked in the center of the
barges deck. Men crowded around them and then dispersed to find places of their
own along the rail. Meyers shot a thumbs-up to David who was observing the
transfer through a window in the pilothouse. The engines gurgled and the riverboat
picked up speed in the water.

Brad looked across the deck, seeing
Vilegas, Parker, Brooks and Sean—all of the shooters from the group. He smiled
and moved forward to greet them when Chelsea passed between Brooks and Sean, carrying
a pack in one hand and her rifle in the other. Brad stepped forward, trying to
hide the shock at seeing her onboard. He moved closer and took the bag from her
and tossed it next to the rail close to his own.

“What are you doing here? I thought
you would stay with Kelli at the fort.”

“I’m needed here,” she said, taking
her rifle and slinging it over her shoulder. She was dressed in her USMC camouflage
uniform, but was now also wearing a British military chest rig filled with NATO
magazines in detachable pouches. “Besides, if we find her, what do you all know
about taking care of a little girl?”

Sean walked up from behind and
slapped Brad on the back. “She’s right, and I ain’t turning down any extra
rifles in the fight. Everyone here volunteered.”

Sean pointed to the piles of gear
bags with British Navy decals. “Get geared up.  We figure we will be deep in
Indian country for at least three to four days. The Limeys parted with some of
their rations, but you know they only gave us the shit they didn’t want.”

Meyers laughed at the comment.
“It’s the Queen’s finest boiled sweets, Yank; so no whining.”

Brad shook his head and moved to
the pile of olive drab bags. He found his own multi cam rucksack and separated
it from the mix. He opened the compartments and began to dump personal items on
the deck next to it. He started the task of preparing his kit for patrol.
Chelsea walked up next to him and knelt down, unzipping a large vinyl bag. She
pulled out a stack of filled magazines, three at a time, and placed them next
to Brad’s gear. Brad looked over at her as she continued pulling items from the
bags.

“I don’t think this will end well,”
he said.

“Probably not, but when it does… I
want to be out there with you all.”

She reached into a bag, pulled out
a 24-hour pack of rations, and pushed it in Brad’s direction. He reached for it
and grabbed her hand. “You shouldn’t have come.”

“Well, I did, and that’s the last I
want to hear about it,” she said as she got to her feet and moved back to the
group of men talking at the far side of the deck. She took a seat at the corner
of the rails where Gunner and Meyers had placed their packs. Brad broke down
the rations and loaded his rucksack. As he worked, he took notice of the armed
crew members patrolling the tops of the pilothouse. Traveling down the river,
he expected them to be on watch and alert, but they all appeared to be looking
down at his team instead of at the shoreline. Brad finished with his pack and
secured the straps. He moved to a corner of the rail where Sean and Brooks were
laid out on the deck.

Brad dropped next to them and
leaned against the rail. He looked to the shoreline, which was now closer as
they headed out of the harbor and into the mouth of the river. The sun was
setting and he could just make out shadowy figures moving on the far off
boardwalks and beaches. He could hear howling but was unable to determine if it
was the wind or the creatures over the rumbling of the engines. A close-by crew
member noticed Brad staring far off and pointed out a distant structure, a high
walled building on a narrow island.

“That’s the Castle. People made it
there early, came by boat or anything that could float. They hid out there
pretty well for a bit too.”

Brad stared at the walled structure
without looking up at the crewman. He could see distant forms moving along the
beach in front of the castle’s walls. As the barge moved past, he could see
more and more of them standing shoulder to shoulder watching the slowly moving
vessel. Some of them walked knee deep into the water and reached out at them.

“What happened?” Brad asked.

“They lost control. Same as most
places do. Somebody gets in, infects the rest. They kill each other off. I was
out here on the water watching when the place fell. We could hear their
screams, the gunshots. They fired flares; some even tried to swim out to us.”

Brad turned and looked up at the
crewman. “You didn’t help them?”

The man shook his head and dug
through a shirt pocket. He took in a deep breath as he placed a bent hand-rolled
cigarette between chapped lips and lit it with a disposable lighter. “No, it’s
Captain’s rule—if they running we don’t help. If they walking?
Now, walking we will barter with ‘em, see what they want. But in cases
like that,” he paused and pointed the glowing cigarette at the quickly fading
island castle. “Yeah, like that, we don’t get involved.”

“You mean you leave them to die,”
Brad said looking at him disgusted.

“Shit, you say what you want, but
that’s how we stay alive. Not getting involved.”  The man leaned out and spit
over the rail, then turned to walk back to the pilothouse.

Brad watched the man leave. The sun
had fully set now and the surface of the boat was bathed in darkness. The pilothouse
held dim lights that cast a soft glow. The distant shore was nothing but a
silhouette of blackened outlines. Brad pushed back against the rail and pulled
his knees up into his chest. He watched the men on the roof of the pilothouse
pace back and forth, patrolling. One turned and stared down at the pile of
olive drab bags of gear. He seemed to focus on them a bit too long, long enough
to make Brad feel uncomfortable.

“What are you thinking?” Brooks
whispered.

Brad looked over and saw Brooks lying
against his pack with his boonie cap pulled low over his eyes. His hands were
crossed in his lap over the grip of his Heckler & Koch Mark 23 pistol.

“Something isn’t right about this
crew and this captain,” Brad whispered.

“No shit, Sherlock. These guys have
been out here working the river since day one. I’m sure they have seen some dark
stuff.”

“It’s more than that. Those two on
the roof seem to be more interested in us than the Primals. And the one keeps
checking out the gear.”

Brooks yawned and crossed his legs.
“His special attention to our goodies hasn’t gone unnoticed. Just sleep with
one eye open tonight. And keep your weapons close,” he said, patting his
pistol.

Brad brought his right hand down to
his hip, felt his pistol, then shrugged his shoulders and cradled his M4 in his
arms as he pushed back against the rail. He closed his eyes tightly and then
opened them; looking up at the roof, he saw that the patrolling guard had moved.
He let his eyes drift now and saw David, the captain, looking out of the window
back at the soldiers sleeping on his aft deck. Brad stared at the man in the
darkness until the captain turned and disappeared back into the shadows of the pilothouse.

He lay back, trying to push the dark
thoughts from his mind. He couldn’t leave the suspicions of the crew. He knew
the captain was hiding something and wondered why he agreed to help them
without even bartering for compensation. Who were these men that left the
innocent to die?  Brad reached back down to his holstered pistol and drew it
out.  He held it with his right hand and covered the slide with his left. He
wouldn’t be sleeping tonight.

CHAPTER 21

Bacon sizzled on a well-seasoned
cast iron skillet. It didn’t take much to restart the fire in the center of the
garage because the coals were still hot; some stirring, a few handfuls of
kindling, and it was soon burning bright. Shane found piles of split wood just
outside of one of the bay doors. He discovered the plastic barrels were rain
catches. All over the building, and even outside, he saw boxes of canned goods
and packaged containers of smoked meats.

Shane cut another generous slice
from the hunk of bacon and was rewarded with the splash of grease as it hit the
pan. Using the same knife, he pried open a can of diced peaches. “So where’d
all this stuff come from, Kyle?” he asked without looking up from the skillet.

“Uhh, what stuff?” Kyle answered,
dazed like he had just woken up. Kyle was slowly sipping from a Mason jar,
sweat beading on his forehead. Shane had finally softened his attitude toward
the prisoner.  He had cut his bindings, splinted the man’s broken leg, and even
allowed him some shine for the pain. Kyle’s belly had swollen and his breathing
had become labored. Shane was sure he’d suffered internal injuries in the
attack—probably a broken rib, maybe worse. Even though he wanted to, he didn’t
enjoy seeing the kid suffer.

“The food… the whiskey…
everything—where’d you get it?”

Kyle straightened his arm and
pushed himself up into a seated position. Grunting through the pain, he twisted
until he was resting against an old seat cushion. “Farmers’ market in town, we
hit it early. They had a butcher shop; made their own meats and such. Most of
the market was sacked, but nobody thought to crack open the delivery trucks. A
lot of the meat was spoiled; you push through all of that and the canned, dried,
and smoked stuff was good.”

“This is a pretty big take. You
could have helped a lot of people.”

“Yeah… there was more folks here
for a bit,” Kyle said before taking a long drink, then pausing to cough; he
looked down at the blood on his hand before wiping it on his shirt.

“Take it easy with that stuff. It’ll
help with the pain, but if you have internal bleeding, it’s just going to make
it worse.” Shane used a fork to lift slices of bacon onto a plastic plate,
added hunks of canned peaches, and placed the plate on Ella’s lap. “You know,
this is the best we have eaten in a while; even at the fort we rarely had fruit.
So where’d they go?  The others?”

“They just gone,” Kyle said
uneasily.

“Gone? Without all of their
belongings, huh?” Shane said, pointing to the piles of clothing and luggage.
“So what, you got them buried in the back somewhere?”

Kyle looked away and put his head
down. “I’m not even supposed to be here. I should have been at college… never
shoulda come back to this place,” he sobbed, pausing again to cough. “When it
all started, I was about to go to school. I’d already got an apartment and a
job up in Hampton. Momma begged me to come home when things started getting
really bad.

“Hell, classes wouldn’t ever start
again anyway… so I left and came home. It was nice and quiet out here—far from
the city and all—like nothing was going on, but folks knew it would get here
eventually. Me and Earl, we tried to get the house ready for Momma. We did what
we could with what we had but needed supplies, so we made a run into town. We
hit up every shop we could think of, buying stuff till the truck couldn’t hold
no more. Paid with a credit card too,” Kyle said with a soft laugh.

“People weren’t panicking yet, not
then, not this far out from the city. But we all saw it on the news. You know
the way people were acting?  Even around here, folks were starting to get
scared. Everyone was nervous, being on edge, keeping their distance. We loaded
up the truck and drove back home. When we got there, we found Momma… dead,”
Kyle said.

“Infected?” Shane asked.

“No. Robbers we suspect. She’d been
shot. Probably angry when they realized she had nothing worth taking. We called
the sheriff, but they was too busy.  The dispatcher told us we should just call
the funeral home. Shit, they wouldn’t answer their phone. We drove Momma down
there, but the place was empty, all closed up. We buried her ourselves, next to
Daddy, over at Oak Creek Cemetery.

“We didn’t feel like staying at the
house no more. So we came here, to the scrap yard. Earl’d gone to high school
with Gary’s son, Jasper, and we all knew their cousin Andrew from spending time
out here at the yard. We knocked on the gate and Gary took us right in. It was
good here, safe, ya know? Even when shit got really bad on the outside; even
after the power went out. They have enough solar cells to keep a few lights on.
And Hell, there was nothing that got through them fences.”

“So when did it all go bad?”

Kyle shrugged his shoulders and
took another long sip from the Mason jar, drinking it dry. He coughed and spit
red onto his shirt sleeve, then lay back on the mattress, and stared up at the
ceiling. “I don’t know man, but… I guess you was right killing us all. We ain’t
good people… not no more, we ain’t,” Kyle said, beginning to slur his words. “We
took in a family for a bit, but it didn’t last. The husband was always getting
angry about the way Gary talked to his wife. The way he stared at her.”

Kyle coughed hard. “You want to
know what we was doing out there on that road?”

“It doesn’t make any difference
now,” Shane said, looking at the boy. He was growing paler by the hour and
sweating profusely. Shane got up and grabbed another sealed jar from a shelf
and switched it with one in the boy’s hand. The boy pushed the jar away and
pointed to a wooden box on the shelf. Shane retrieved the box and found it full
of hand rolled cigarettes. Shane shook his head, “I don’t think you should be
smoking with that cough.”

Kyle forced a small laugh. “Don’t
worry, I have a prescription. This is Jasper’s personal stash. Ha, I don’t
think he’ll mind though.” Kyle reached into the box for a small cigarette and
Shane helped him light it. After another long coughing fit, he breathed in
deeply and lay back again.

“You was right; they was out
looking for people, Earl and Gary. Not to attack, though, like you was thinking.
We didn’t have enough guns for that. You know to fight folks fair. Shit, that
pistol I was carrying? It ain’t been loaded since I got it. Jasper had lots of
bullets for his SKS, and Andrew, his rifle only had a few rounds left. Andrew
was the one you kilt trying to sneak up on you. I liked Andrew; he was always a
good friend to me.” Kyle paused, staring up at the ceiling.

“You have 7.62?”

“What?” Kyle asked as if waking
from a dream.

“The SKS; you have ammo for it?”

“Oh, yeah… on the shelf, by the
shine—buncha’ boxes of it. Jasper was a prepper; or he thought he was. He’s the
one that set all of this stuff up. The lights, water… all of it.”

Shane walked back to the sedan and
retrieved the empty SKS he’d pulled off the dead man in the field. He dropped
the magazine, then pushed aside jars on the shelves. He found an open Spam can
of ammo. He pulled the can closer and located several already-loaded magazines.
Shane grabbed one. Loading and charging the SKS, he left the empty on the shelf
and returned to the couch.

“Why you interested in that
hunk-a-junk? You already have a real nice carbine.”

“What would you think if I told you
I had less than ten rounds left when you ambushed me?”

Kyle laughed hard, and then coughed
until he was spitting more blood. He took a deep breath followed by a long drag
of the cigarette. “Ha! Guess we did fuck with the wrong soldier, didn’t we?”

“Why would your brother and the old
man go so far out on the road with just that shotgun?”

Kyle sighed. “They called it
hunting. They’d go a mile or two up the road and set up in the woods. If they
got a deer that was great; if not, maybe they’d find a group on the road. Travelers;
if they was weak—you know, only one or in a pair—sure they’d jump 'em and just
take they things, maybe turn ‘em around, maybe worse. But if they was well
armed and looked friendly enough, or like they had stuff we’d be wanting, Gary
would talk to ‘em and tell ‘em what we got back here. That we had a nice place
for ‘em.  Usually they agreed and he’d drive them right into our ambush. Boy,
was we surprised when you come running through them logs like a bat outta
hell.” Kyle laughed and coughed up more blood.

“That’s not how it was supposed to
work. Gary would usually ride in the back with ‘em and Earl would drive through
the logs and stop. He’d act all shocked and scared while we moved in. Then, when
the time was right, we’d take care of ‘em. Jasper, enjoyed it, I think. Guess
you all musta’ got lucky.”

“They were after the girl,” Shane
said.

Kyle coughed again and nodded.
“That sounds like Gary; he was always trying to find women.”

“She’s a kid!”

“I know, mister,” Kyle said
apologetically, then let the cigarette hang from his lips as he laid his head
back.

Kyle stopped talking and took in
deep, labored breaths. The sun had dropped and there was only a low glow coming
from the hallway light bulb. Shane thought he heard the kid cry.  He looked in
his direction and saw the orange tip of the cigarette. Shane let the fire go
out as night fell. Kyle told him it was safe inside the walls, but it wasn’t
cold enough to take the risk. He pushed back into an overstuffed couch and felt
Ella move up next to him with the wool blanket from his pack. He allowed her to
sit on his lap as she curled up against him.

Night came, and so did the moaning sounds
of the infected. They sounded distant and random, but it still put him on edge.
Shane pulled the pistol from his waistband and held it in his hand as it rested
on the arm of the couch. He considered tying the kid back up, but then he heard
a gurgling snore come from Kyle’s direction. In the distance, Shane thought he
heard the low whoomp, whoomp, whoomp of a helicopter. He listened
intently but the sound quickly faded.

He lifted Ella and laid her on the
couch with her head resting near him. He tucked the green blanket in around her,
then eased back into the cushion, prepared to stay awake and determined to
guard her through the night. Another string of wet coughs and painful grunting
came from Kyle’s direction, followed by the wheezing snore.

“I’ll let you sleep Kyle, it’s more
than you deserve,” Shane whispered even though he knew the boy wouldn’t hear
him.

CHAPTER 22

Bright flashes and explosive
gunfire jerked Brad’s body awake. He rolled to the left, knocking over his
rifle while trying to bring up his pistol, but not finding a target. His ears
were ringing and bright flashes bled away his night vision. Brad looked up,
squinting, and saw a crewman take a burst of gunfire to his chest, then stumble
backwards, firing a shotgun blast into the sky. Another man ran for a rail but
was cut down by a long, unsuppressed burst from Brooks’ MP5.

Sean and Meyers were already on
their feet, pressed against the sides of the pilothouse. Meyers brought back
the butt stock of the SA80 and slammed it through a window, effectively
smashing the glass out. Nearly simultaneously, Sean pulled the pin of a flash
bang and tossed it into the compartment. Both men looked away as the crack of
an explosion and a bright flash shocked the air. The door was blown outwards
and Meyers swung around it and stepped through. Moments later, Brad saw Sean on
the roof of the structure and heard Meyers shouting, “All clear,” from below.

“Dammit! I think I’m hit,” Parker
yelled, pulling up his T-shirt and exposing a long, red gash across his right
hip. Joey quickly moved to his side, opened a gauze bandage, and slapped it to
the wound. “It’s just a scratch, stop pouting. Doc Howard, can you have a look
at this?” he shouted while keeping pressure on the bandage.

Gunner walked through the mess. “Anyone
want to tell me what the hell just happened?” he yelled.

Meyers came through the door,
dragging a crew man out by flex-cuffed hands. He dropped him heavily to the deck
and turned to watch Sean drag out the captain.

“Their skipper’s bleeding out. Ain’t
much left of him,” Sean shouted.

Brooks walked over, stepped around
the captured men as he switched out magazines in his MP5, and looked to Gunner.
“They tried moving on us. Those two over there,” he said, pointing at two
crumpled forms by the deck. “They come out of the pilothouse with weapons up,
then more lined up on the roof. Looks like they were looking to kill us off and
keep our gear. I fired before they could coordinate. That sound about right?”
Brooks said, giving the captain a gentle kick to the ribs.

David jerked and turned his head,
looking away. Meyers stepped in and gave him another tap with the toe of his
boot. “Come on now, mate; don’t get shy on us,” Meyers said as he knelt to the
deck and looked the captain in the eye.

“Your equipment was the only way
we’re gonna get paid for this trip. Fuel ain’t free, you know. It’s nothing
personal,” David said. “We weren’t gonna kill you, just tie you up and leave
you on shore.”

Brooks grunted. “Damn, now this is
awkward, I sure do apologize for the misunderstanding.”

Brad stood back, watching the scene
and spotted Chelsea near Howard and Parker. He moved to her side and he could
see she was okay. Parker’s wound had already been cleaned and Howard was taping
a thick dressing to it. Brad clipped his rifle back to his vest as Sean and
Meyers were forcing the captain and the other sailor into back-to-back sitting
positions.

“What are they going to do?”
Chelsea whispered to Brad.

“Not sure,” Brad replied. He turned
and looked over the rail. They were in the center of the river and at anchor,
even though he could still hear the engines at a low idle. The not so distant
shorelines were full of moving shadows—the gunfight had obviously attracted
them. Beyond the rows of Primals, Brad spotted a short aluminum dock and a
small two story house set back from the river. A loud scream caused him to turn
back in the direction of the wounded men. Brooks had his hand on the captain’s
abdomen and was peeling away layers of clothing. The captain yelped in protest.

“He’s in bad shape, nothing I can
do for him.” Brooks shook his head. “Nope, he won’t make it without some high
level surgery,” Brooks said, probing the wound. “This other one is fine… unless
you don’t want him to be?”

Gunner squatted and looked the captain
in the eyes. “So you were planning to dump us?  Like you did the girl and her
soldier?”

David lifted his head defiantly. “I
got you to your destination. That’s the closest structure to where we lost
sight of ‘em. Did you think this was a free ride?”

“I’m sure we could’ve worked
something out; ‘fraid you just put yourself out of business.” Gunner stood and
looked at Sean. “Toss ‘em,” he ordered.

Sean looked at Gunner. “Toss him?”

“Chief, throw his pirate ass over
the side,” Gunner shouted as he moved to the second man.

Sean reached down and grabbed David
under an arm as Brooks did the same on the opposite side. They forced him to his
feet while David screamed in agony. “You can’t do this! This is my boat.”

The two men ignored his argument and
brought him to the rail. Sean adjusted his grip and grabbed a fist full of
clothing on the man’s back. Then, as he held him out over the edge and dangling
above the dark river, he paused and looked back at Gunner. “You sure?”

“I have no sympathy for people like
him,” Gunner said.

Sean nodded and shoved hard, then
jerked back; the captain yelped as he dangled over the rail.

“Stop, dammit! You can’t do this!”
David screamed.

Gunner stomped across the deck and
Sean held tight to the fabric of the man’s jacket.

“Look around, David; I’m in charge
now. I can do what I want!  Now tell me, where did you drop the soldier and the
girl?”

David hung over the rail mumbling
but not answering the question. Gunner drew his holstered 1911, then turned
back to face the second man who was still sitting on the deck, wide-eyed with
fear.

“Get him on his feet!” Gunner
yelled.

Meyers quickly dropped down and
grabbed a shoulder as Brad jumped forward to grab the other. They dragged him
kicking and screaming to the rail next to the captain. Sean pulled back on
David’s jacket so that he was now shoulder-to-shoulder with the sailor.

“Okay, this is speed poker in the
worst way it can be played,” Gunner whispered, leaning forward so that he was
speaking between the two men’s heads.  “I want to know where the girl is; where
you put them ashore,” he said just above a whisper.

Gunner took the barrel of his
pistol and pressed it against the back of David’s thigh. “You’re up, Captain.”

David growled and spit over the
rail into the water. Gunner pulled the trigger, launching a 45 caliber round
through the captain’s leg and ripping out the front of his quad.  David howled
and nearly fell over the rail, but Sean caught him and pulled him back in,
allowing the man’s weight to lie on the railing. The second man squirmed and
went weak in the knees. He tried to pull away from Brad, who—although shocked
at the events—maintained his grip and helped steady the man on his feet.

“Now you see how this played,”
Gunner yelled. He took the pistol and placed it against the sailor’s leg. “Your
turn; where are they?”

“No, no, we didn’t put them ashore.
The captain, made ‘em jump,” the sailor pleaded.

“Ding, ding, ding. Gentleman, we
have a winner,” Gunner shouted. “Bonus round! Where did they jump? I’m asking
you, Captain.”

David grunted and vomited into the
water. He inhaled deeply. “Just up the river… from here, they jumped over… and
the damn grunt tossed… grenade that blew up the pilothouse,” he said between
gasps. “I know they was good in the water… I watched them go around the bend.”

“What’s between here and the last
location you saw them?” Gunner asked.

“Nothing, just fields… we floated
to here trying to find them. We anchored for most of the day off this dock. The
soldier was smart. If he made it, this is where he would have gone.”

“But, you didn’t see him?”

David shook his head. “No.”

“Very well,” Gunner said. He walked
closer and relieved Sean of his position, grabbing David by the jacket. “David,
nothing personal, but you went against me.” He pushed hard and David spilled
headfirst into the water. His body dropped below the surface, and then his head
came up gasping for air. He kicked his good leg and swam with the current. He swam
surprisingly well, considering his condition. He managed to reach the aluminum
dock, where he stuck his arms out and grasped the corner of the decking with
his fingertips. He pulled himself in and looked back at the barge with a
menacing glare.

From behind and above, dark hands
reached down and dragged the captain from the water. The Primals howled and
screamed in a state of frenzy as they swarmed his body. The mass pulled him
away, toward the field, before disappearing into the darkness with the still
screaming man.

Brad stood, entranced by the sight
on the dock. He felt the sailor in his grip shiver and, suddenly, Brad felt
pity for the man. Not wanting to see the sailor’s face, he gripped the man
tight under the arms and looked away. He heard Gunner walk behind them. “Okay,
set him back down.”

Brad exhaled a sigh of relief as he
walked in step with Meyers to drag the sailor back to the center of the deck. After
dropping him, they pushed him back into a seated position. Brad took a
stumbling step back and retook his place next to Chelsea; she moved in behind
him and pushed against his back. Gunner was still at the far rail, quietly
exchanging words with Sean. He nodded, then turned and walked back to the
sailor.

Gunner stepped until he was right
in front of the prisoner. He squared his feet and looked down at him. “You’ve
got one chance and one chance only. Take us up the river to the last place you
saw the pair… or join your captain.”

CHAPTER 23

Shane watched the sun slowly rise
through a dirty glass window. He’d stayed awake all night keeping the watch and
as Shane adjusted himself, he reached beside him to check Ella. She was
sleeping soundly under the blanket. He tucked the edges in around her and slowly
pushed to his feet, feeling the grinding and burning in his back. He looked
across the room at the still figure on the mattress.

Sometime in the middle of the night,
Kyle’s gurgling snore had gotten raspier, then shrill, and then the time
between breaths lengthened. Shane listened intently as the kid finally took his
last breath and went silent. Now standing over the body, he felt no emotion for
him. Shane pulled the sheet over the corpse and twisted an end shut before he
dragged it off the mattress, toward a wall of the building. He would have to
dispose of it later.

Shane walked to a window set in the
cinderblock wall. He looked outside and into the rear yard. Rows of junked cars
and other piled bits of scrap metal stretched for over a hundred yards before
ending at the tall, metal-skinned fence.  Shane watched silently, looking for any
movement; any sign that the compound may not be safe. Somehow, this unlikely
place appeared to be a secure sanctuary, a place where they could stay for a
while and rest. The only downside was that it was set right on the road, and
unlike the bandits, he wouldn’t have the manpower to maintain a guard.

He turned and looked around the
room at the stacked piles of boxes and crates of food. Shane walked to the
hallway and back to the small bathroom he’d spotted the night before. He
reached in, flicked a light switch, and was surprised to see a small light turn
on. Hoses with clamped ends hung from the ceiling; one stopped above the sink,
another about the toilet’s tank. Shane walked to the small sink, unclamped the
red rubber hose, and a stream of water poured from its end.

Shane smiled and let the water pour
over his head and hands as he washed himself. The hoses must stretch to more
rain catches on the roof, he thought. Shane used the toilet then refilled
the tank   before he turned and moved back to the large garage space. Digging
through a box, he found a can of fruit, then sat heavily in a chair and opened
the can. He drank the juice and ate the fruit while he watched Ella sleep.

Ella began to stir; she pulled the
blanket off then scrambled to an upright position and looked at Shane. He
smiled at her and asked if she was hungry. She yawned and nodded. He got back
up and dug through the box for another can, then poured the contents into a
bowl. She smiled as he handed it to her. “Are we going to stay here, Shane?”
she asked as she brought a spoonful of fruit cocktail to her lips.

Shane looked around. “I think we
can stay for a couple days, until we are rested.”

Ella took another bite; juice went
down her chin and left dirty streaks as she said, “Where is Kyle?”

“He had to go, Ella. You know what?
I think it’s time we got you a bath,” he said changing the subject.

Ella shook her head and put down
the bowl. “Where did he go?  Is he coming back?”

“No, he won’t be coming back,”
Shane said, getting to his feet. He walked around the interior of the garage and
stopped when he found a large pail of clean rags. He sorted through them to
find suitable ones that could be used as washrags and towels. A bit more
searching and he found a partially used bottle of hand soap. “Okay, Ella,
enough stalling; let’s get you into some water.”

Ella shook her head again, sat
back, and pulled the wool blanket over her head. Shane laughed and scooped her
up from the couch, blanket and all. He walked her through an open door and into
the yard. There were a number of troughs and barrels positioned around the
property, filled to varying levels with rain water. Shane walked toward a large
plastic basin. He sat Ella down and looked at the tub. Plastic had been
stretched over it, with a small hole cut in the center of the thin film. As
water hit the film, gravity pulled it toward the center and into the tub. It
seemed wrong to waste fresh water, but there were weeks’ worth of water all
around him.

Shane pulled back the plastic and
put his hand in the clear water. It was warm, the solar effect of the plastic
having heated the water. He turned toward the girl and removed the wool blanket.
He carefully folded it and set it on the ground, then helped the girl undress. He
lifted her up and gently lowered her into the tub.  She smiled when she felt
the warm water and quickly began to play.  Shane squeezed hand soap into his
palm and began to clean the dirt from her hair and back. She protested but
stood still while he scrubbed.

“Do you have a little girl, Shane?”
she asked as Shane used the clean rag to wipe the soap from her face.

“I never had any kids,” he answered
as he put the wet rag over her shoulder.

“Then how come you know how to take
care of girls?  My Dad isn’t good at girls.”

Shane let out a deep laugh. “Oh, I
don’t think I know too much about girls. It’s good you’re so tiny, or you’d
figure it out.”

Shane reached into the tub and
lifted her out, setting her on the center of the wool blanket. He dried her
with a second rag, then hung it over her shoulders as he went to work washing
her clothing in the barrel. After pulling the makeshift towel around her, Ella
dropped to sit on the blanket and watch him wash the clothing.

“Do you have a wife?”

“Why so many questions? No, I never
had a wife.”

“Do you have a girlfriend?” she
asked, watching as Shane wrung out her now clean T-shirt then began squirting
soap onto her soiled jeans.

“No. I did once though; she was
pretty like you but she didn’t like my job. I left one day and when I came back,
she was gone.” He scrubbed the fabric, pulled the jeans from the water, and
started ringing them out. When he was done, he hung them over the side of the
barrel. He pulled the folded edges of the blanket up and around Ella then
lifted her into his right arm as he grabbed the wet clothing with his left.

“I like your job, Shane,” she
whispered as he carried her back to the open garage door. He pulled her in and
she rested her head on his shoulder. Shane stopped as he heard the thumping,
same as from the night before. Unmistakably a helicopter, but not the large
military types he was used to. He stopped, standing motionless just feet from
the door. As he listened, the sound got louder then faded away. Searching
maybe? Shane thought. Searching for what? As the sounds of the
rotors faded, they were replaced by the infected that were prematurely woken
early in the day.

Shane moved through the door and
bolted it behind him. He brought Ella to the couch and placed her on the
cushions. He left the rags and blankets wrapped around her while he laid her
clothing out to dry. Shane used dry wood to build a small nearly smokeless
fire. His eyes wandered to the high ceiling of the garage where he watched the light
gray wisps of smoke climb and be pulled through a high open skylight. He
followed the corner of the ceiling and saw a small metal ladder that led to a
roof access.

He saw that it was a pull down
ladder currently in its up position. He looked to check on Ella and saw that
she had manage to turn pieces of firewood into dolls and was deep in
conversation with them.

“Stay on the couch, Ella, I’ll be
back in a minute,” he said.

Shane got to his feet and walked
across the garage to the access ladder. He pulled on the control rope and
slowly allowed his weight to drop the ladder to its down position. He looked
back at Ella; she was still on the couch and occupied in play.

Shane put a boot on the ladder. Finding
it solid, he climbed the top and discovered a square metal access hatch that
was left open. Shane poked his head through and stepped onto the roof. As he suspected,
two large rain barrels and coils of rubber hose sat above where he figured the
bathroom would be below. There were large banks of solar panels and a number of
homemade wind turbines connected to automobile alternators. Everything was tied
into covered banks of 12-volt car batteries.

He walked across the roof to the
road side of the building where he could see the gate and the highway beyond it.
From his high vantage point, he could see over some of the tree tops and
farther to the south. He saw tall electrical towers and noted that there were
several homes leading away in the direction he hadn’t yet traveled. Shane
turned and searched the direction the helicopter sounds had come from. He could
see the perimeter fence circling the compound; beyond the fence was a narrow
stretch of high grass, then thick forest.

He walked the entire outline of the
roof while scanning the perimeter fence. The area appeared secure but he would
have to get down and check it closer to also look for an emergency escape route.
He saw no signs of the infected, not even on the roads. The houses within his
line of sight were too far away to get a good look at, though. If he decided to
stay here, they would have to be checked out. He liked the security of the
building but worried it would become a target for other wandering groups.

Shane walked back to the hatch and
prepared to step down when the loud blast of a distant explosion caught his
attention. He moved back to the roof and looked in the direction of the sound. He
heard the rattle of small arms fire, followed by more explosions. Smoke
billowed far in the distance—it was toward the river, the direction he’d come
from. Another loud explosion, rapid gunfire, and the sound of the distant
helicopter made Shane scramble for the hatch and drop into the building below.

CHAPTER 24

The sailor guided them back to the
bend in the river where the crew had lost sight of the soldier. The barge was
brought in close to the shore and the engines were shut down. They waited,
watching the shoreline as dawn approached. They found this portion of the river
void of life—most of the infected having traveled farther down river, attracted
by the noise of previous gunfire and the feeding frenzy of the Primals.

Brad prepped the remainder of his
gear, then assisted Chelsea and Parker to go through checklists of gear that
Meyers had laid out on the deck.  Mostly satellite base systems, GPS, mobile phones,
a large antenna array, and, of course, sets of heavy batteries. Meyers was
documenting every item as it was distributed: what it was, to which person it
was given, and where in each pack it was located.

Parker cussed as another heavy
battery pack was tossed in his direction. “What’s with all of this stuff?” he
asked.

Meyers held up a sat phone. “Mate,
if we get into trouble, this handy little item can call in a Tomahawk. I don’t
think you will be whining about the weight of the battery if it comes to that.”

Joey reached down and pulled the
battery form Parker’s grip. “I got you,” he said, dropping the battering into a
pocket on the front of his own rucksack.

Gunner stomped out of the pilothouse,
breaking up the conversation as he pushed the captured sailor ahead of him. Gunner
forcibly turned the man and directed him against the wall.

“I was able to contact the fort on
the High Frequency; I let Kelli and Cordell in on current events,” Gunner said,
looking at Meyers but speaking so that everyone could hear.  He turned and
looked at the sailor. “I’m tempted to put a bullet in you, but Cordell tells me
that this barge and your work are essential to the survival of the fort. So…
looks like you will be getting a second chance. I’m counting on you to deliver
this barge back to the fort; do it and you’re off the hook, cross me again and
I’ll track you down and feed you to the Primals—”

“Bullshit, man; let’s kill this
dude. We can get the boat on the return trip!” Joey countered.

Gunner grinned. Looking back at the
sailor, he said, “My friend makes a hell of a point. If I thought we would be
returning back to this point, I’d probably take him up on it.”

“Then how we getting back if the
boat leaves?” Joey asked.

“We have Kelli on comms; she will
send someone for us. If that fails, Meyers has the sub on satcom and they can
relay the message for us,” Gunner answered. “Unless you want to volunteer to
take ride with our new friend back to Sumter.”

“Nah, screw that. I’m a killer, not
a stow-away.”

“Then I guess we have nothing to
talk about,” Gunner said.

Joey conceded by shrugging his
shoulders. “I don’t know, man. Seems like a wasted opportunity to off a scum
bag, but you’re the boss, Pops.”

Sean and Brooks walked away from
the rail where they were inspecting the shoreline with a set of binoculars.
They joined the rest of the party in the center of the deck. “Most of the
riverbank walls are high, but there are a few spots right over there where a
person could come out of the water. Makes sense for us to go ashore there as
well.”

Gunner reached down for his own
pack and hoisted it with his strong arm. “Sounds good, Chief. Ready the small
boat, we’ll head out in five.”

The small dingy could only hold
three, so the first group went across, dragging a rope behind them that they
tied off to a tree on the riverbank. Parker stayed in the small dingy as Brooks
and Sean slipped over the side and into the muddy bank of the river. They
quickly pulled themselves up and onto the grass-covered ground above. They disappeared
for a moment before Sean came back into view, holding up a finger for two more.

Parker pulled on the rope and guided
the small boat back to the dingy as Gunner pointed at Brad and Joey. Brad
nodded and walked to the rail. Leaning over, he handed his bag to Parker and
then did the same with Joey’s. Brad put a hand on the rail, climbed over and
down into the dingy as Parker held the craft steady against the current as best
he could. Joey climbed aboard and Parker wasted no time pulling them back to
the bank.

The boat squished against the muddy
edge and Brad stepped out, sinking above his ankle in the sticky mud. He took
the closest pack and heaved it over the edge, then tossed the second bag behind
him. Joey got out next and together, they pushed the small boat off and back at
the barge. Brad reached up and grabbed tight handfuls of the thick grass. Using
his feet against the bank, he pulled himself up and over the edge before reaching
down to take Joey’s wrist to pull him up next.

Brad rested silently on one knee
until he spotted Sean to the far north on the opposite side of a muddy trail. He
turned his head without moving the rest of his body; Brooks was to the south as
he had predicted he would be. Brad tapped Joey on the shoulder and indicated
for him to pick up near security by pointing to a location between them and
Sean. Joey nodded and stepped off quietly with his rifle at the low ready. Brad
stood crouching and moved to the south.

In less than ten minutes, the crew
had all filed off the boat and lined up evenly spaced on the field side of the
trail. Parker was the last one out of the dingy. He tied the rope to a cleat;
the sailor reeled in the rope and secured the dingy to the barge.  Then the
sailor returned to the pilothouse. Gunner ordered him not to move until
nightfall. He didn’t want him doing anything during daylight hours to disturb
the sleeping Primals.

After staying motionless for
several minutes to make sure they came ashore unnoticed, Sean turned and walked
slowly until he stopped just behind Brad. Gunner was already there and Sean
pointed out sets of old footprints in the muddy trail. He located breaks where
a human foot had broken into the high grass and possibly moved to the road.
Sean used his hand to point to swaths of bent and flattened grass where someone
had waded across the field. He explained the trail was hard to identify as the
soldier or an infected because of the recent action of the infected moving south
to the dock. He suggested they patrol to the house.

Gunner dipped his chin in agreement.
Sean walked the line, moving to the rear while signaling for the others to
stand as he passed them. When he had everyone up, he slapped the man in front
of him and the eight-man team began moving forward in a column formation,
staying out of the high grass to remain quiet and avoid detection. Brad was
third from the back, Parker just ahead of him; Brooks had taken point and was
leading far ahead. Whenever Brooks would pause to examine the trail, the rest
of them would kneel down, looking in opposite directions to provide a bubble of
security.

Morning dew still held heavy to the
grass and the muddy trail, their boots sticking with every step. Brad scanned
off into the high grass and to the road beyond it. The sun was breaking through
the trees to the east on the far side of the river and casting an eerie golden
glow across the field. Brad imagined the Primals retreated there to avoid the
daylight. He found it strange that even continents away, the Primal behavior
seemed the same. In the deserts, the Primals were less active, so they blamed
it on the heat of the day. In the sub temperatures of Newfoundland, they were
slower but still became scarce in the daytime hours, so temperature didn’t seem
to make a difference. The Primals had become nocturnal hunters, pack hunting
under the cover of darkness.

Brad recalled the time they watched
Primals emerge from the dunes of sand, rising into the night and howling at the
stars. He looked at the tall grass and felt his heartbeat quicken as he
imagined hundreds of them lying silently in it. He stepped forward and almost
walked into Parker who’d stopped on the trail. Brad woke from his dark thoughts
and took a knee, pointing outward to cover the field; he scanned to the left
and saw the farmhouse offset from the trail.

Sean walked up the inside of the
path tapping his shoulder, indicating for Brad to follow as he passed. Brad
climbed to his feet and speed walked to catch up. Brooks was on a knee at the
head of the column; Sean quickly moved in beside him and Brad stopped just
behind to form a backward pointing triangle. Brooks waved a hand at the blood-streaked
dock and bits of yellow slicker and canvas clothing that littered the trail and
the field.

Sean looked at the house. “Let’s
clear it,” he whispered.

Brooks got to his feet and led off
with Sean directly behind him and Brad taking up the rear. They moved past the
bloody dock and onto the stone path leading up to the house. Brooks moved hastily
onto the porch and pressed against the wall on the knob side of the door. Sean
fell in directly behind him while Brad took the opposite wall. When all men
were in position, Brooks checked the knob—the door was secured. Sean removed
his hawk and stepped in front of the door but Brooks held up a gloved hand to
stop him. He lifted a welcome mat and shook his head, then reached and swiped
his hand over the wooden trim above the door. His hand stopped and he smiled as
he lowered his arm, revealing a small bronze key between his fingertips.

Sean furled his brow. He again took
his position behind Brooks who inserted the key and heard the click of the lock.
He again turned the doorknob and heard a clunk before it easily swung inward.  Before
it was all the way open, Brooks swept through the opening quickly with his
submachine gun at the ready; Brad filed in after him, with Sean moving in last.
They were hit with the fading smell of death; it was distant and musty, not
like the rotting meat they’d become accustomed to.  Without commands, the trio
fanned out into the farmhouse kitchen. To the left was a stairway.  Looking
through the kitchen, they saw a countertop and stove, beyond that, a darkened
living room.

Sean made a clicking sound with his
cheek, causing the other two to look over at him. He was pointing at a drawing
made on the table top, scribbled in grease pencil. It was a rough sketch of a
stick figure holding a rifle.  Next to him was a smaller stick figure with a
ponytail. Brooks put his hand on the table and swept up crumbs and sticky drops.
“This was recent,” he whispered. “There’s dust on all the chairs but this one,
and the table is clean.” They inspected the kitchen and found a pot with drops
of water still in the bottom. Brad waited by the back door while Brooks and
Sean cleared the rest of the home; room by room, floor by floor. When Sean
walked down the stairs, he stopped at the bottom briefly, then he moved back to
the kitchen door, stuck his head out, and waved his arm to motion the others to
come forward. He moved back in and stared at the drawing on the table before
walking to the counter and taking a seat on top of it.

Howard was pushed through the door
with Meyers, Chelsea, and Gunner close behind. Parker and Joey were picked to
hold sentry on the back porch. Brad sat in a chair at the kitchen table and
pointed at the drawing. Meyers smiled as he walked closer to examine it. “Did
you find anything else?”

“We got two dead in the living
room; Grandma and Grandpa been there a while, a young man chained to a wall
upstairs—some crazy shit, the blood is still sticky, someone did some slicing
and dicing on it. Master bedroom has been slept in recently and from the dusty
footprints on the floor I’d say with certainty our soldier was here. And unless
he is an idiot savant, the girl drew these pictures.

“How long ago?” Meyers asked.

Sean shrugged looking at Brooks who
was leaning against the stair rail. “Two days, maybe a bit longer. Front door is
unlocked and open; I’d guess they headed up and stuck to the road moving
southwest.”

Meyers took a drink from a canteen.
“Okay, we ain’t staying; let’s move—.”

Joey poked his head in the door
interrupting, “Chief, I hear a helicopter!”

Sean jumped off the counter and
briskly walked to the covered porch with the others close behind him. Just as
Brad made it through the doorway, a small, fast moving, powder black AH-6
Little Bird helicopter flew by just above the water’s surface. Parker prepared
to step off the porch and wave when Howard yelled, “No! Don’t.”

The others turned to look at Howard
with surprise just as they heard the swoosh of a rocket, immediately
followed by a loud explosion. The pitch of the helicopter’s rotor changed as it
turned and climbed for elevation. Sean pushed everyone back inside, closed the
door, and stood watching by the window. The helicopter made another low pass,
then hovered as men on the skids fired rifles up river. The helicopter pivoted
on its axis and let loose a second salvo of rockets. Black smoke plumed from
where they knew the barge was anchored. The Kiowa hovered in position then cut
a larger arc before flying off.

Sean turned and stomped to Howard. He
grabbed him by the collar and spun him around, slamming his head onto the
countertop. “What the fuck is going on?”

Howard struggled against Sean’s
weight, trying to stand. Meyers moved closer and waved Sean aside. Sean stepped
back, releasing Howard’s collar. Meyers pulled out a kitchen chair then
manually moved Howard until he was sitting in it. “Now, Doctor, would you fancy
an explanation?”

Howard looked up at them with
sunken eyes. “They shouldn’t be here.”

“Who shouldn’t be here?” Meyers
asked.

Howard shook his head. “They are
the CNRT.”

“Who?” Meyers asked again.

“The Coordinated National Response
Team, but this makes no sense; they already have the Aziz specimen, they don’t
need the girl!”

Brooks dropped his arms as Sean stepped
forward, looking at Howard. Brad’s jaw dropped with shock. “Back the fucking
train up, what did you just say?” Sean said, looking flustered.

“The CNRT, that’s what they call
themselves. They are looking for a cure, but they want it for themselves. No,
this isn’t right; they already have patient zero, the source.”

“Aziz is the source?” Brad mumbled.

“Not exactly. Like the girl, we
believe he shares a rare genetic mutation that makes him immune. He used his
own blood to make the serum, the basis for the Primalis Rabia. Like a
key to a lock, his blood is also the cure. We were onto him early at the CDC
and Public Health Service. Aziz is a narcissist.  He published his findings on
known terror websites days into the global attack; he boasted and taunted us.
We tried to unlock the virus’ code, but without a source patient, decoding the
virus was nearly impossible under the time constraints. The CIA tracked Aziz to
a few remote locations and training sites. We were close, so close, but we always
got to him too late. He was eventually pulled from the mountains of Afghanistan
by the CNRT before a team could be scrambled to recover him.”

Brooks picked up a kitchen chair
and threw it down the hallway into the living room. “Are you fucking kidding
me?” he shouted as he walked away into the other room.

Howard paused uncomfortably,
watching Brooks leave the room. Meyers pulled out a second chair and sat across
from Howard. “Why didn’t you tell us this before, mate?”

Howard looked down at his lap,
fidgeting with his hands. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know if I could trust you. Every
effort we have made to find a sample has been thwarted by the CNRT; they are
everywhere.”

“Who are they?” Meyers asked.

“They’re us. Before the split, you
know, after the Meat Grinder.”

Sean grunted, “Doc, what the hell
are you talking about?”

Howard looked at Sean confused. “After
DC; you know… the failed defense of the city, the Battle of the Meat Grinder?
The government split, the executive branch refused to give up the city. Most of
the house and senate had already retreated to their home districts.

Finally, after days of losses and
entire military units deserting, the joint chiefs made a call. They ordered the
evacuation of the city against the orders of the president. Not everyone
listened, but much of the military and a good deal of the federal government
went far west.”

“And they became the CNRT?” Sean
asked.

Howard nodded. “It was like they
went into a mountain bunker as the US Government and came out the Coordinated
National Response Team. I was working in Virginia when it all fell apart. It’s
only by chance that I’m not with them now. We were given the evac order and
they brought caravans of helicopters to evacuate us back west. Several of us
were separated, but we managed to link up with some National Guard units and
local law enforcement. They moved us north, all the way across the Ohio River
to a hospital at an air force base near Dayton.”

“You said you were with the Public Health
Service?” Sean asked.

“I am, but with the Midwest
Alliance.”

Gunner shook his head and slammed a
fist onto the table’s surface. “Okay, all bullshit aside; what are the facts we
need now?”

“Bottom line, if we ever want a chance
at a future… a cure, we need that girl. If the CNRC gets to her first, they
will kill her and burn the body.”

“How did they find us?” Gunner
asked.

“Probably didn’t, they’re thorough
and probably have the same info we did about Fort Collins. They’re good with
electronics—.”

“They probably hit on the HF radio
call this morning,” Meyers said.

The helicopter flew closer before
making another wide arc and disappearing. Joey ran through the living room and
looked out of the front door while Sean took back his position at the kitchen
window. “Chopper’s gone but by the looks of that smoke, so is the barge. I’m
sure the Primals will be up early.”

Gunner stomped across the room,
grabbing his rucksack and throwing it up onto his shoulders. “Okay, we need to
get moving before this place is overrun. Suppressors if you got ‘em; we roll
two by two on the road,” he said as he reached into a side pouch on his hip,
pulled out a screw on can, and attached it to the end of his SA80. “Let’s go,
ladies!” Gunner stepped off through the home, nearly kicking the front door off
its hinges as he burst out onto the front porch.

CHAPTER 25

Shane dropped into the space of the
garage and looked to the couch were he’d left Ella. She was curled into a ball,
hiding under the green blanket. He moved to her side and pulled it away from
her head. She looked at him and whispered, “I heard bad people, Shane.”

“It’s okay. I heard it too, but it’s
far way. Nobody knows we’re here,” Shane said, trying to hide the concern in
his voice.

“Can we leave now, Shane?”

Shane put his hand on her back and
laid back against the couch searching for an answer. She climbed out of the
blanket and lay in his lap. In the distance, he heard the helicopter again. He
debated building a fire to signal them.

But the gunfire… who or what was
that? Maybe just battling the infected. Maybe not…  No, can’t risk it, don’t
know who they were. Stick to the plan, Shane; get the girl to Savannah.

“Okay, Ella, we can leave. We’ll
get the car ready to go and leave in the morning, okay?”

Ella lifted her head and smiled.
She climbed from his lap and, standing on the cushion next to him, gave Shane a
hug. He squeezed her back. Shane didn’t have any experience with children.  In
the past, he always thought of them as annoying tiny people that required a lot
of attention. The girl’s need for affection used to make him uncomfortable. It’d
been awhile since he’d allowed anyone to get close to him. At first he faked
it, but now the feeling for her was real; he wondered if this was what it was
like to be a father. To know you would protect someone with your life. To have
something to fight for.

Shane kissed her on the forehead
and got back to his feet. He grabbed the car keys from the table in front of
him and pushed a button to pop the trunk. He’d have to prioritize the food and
get as much as possible into the sedan. With the vehicle, and sticking to rural
roads, Shane thought they could make Savannah in a few hours’ time—leaving just
before noon and arriving at the hottest part of the day. He would have to have
a contingency plan, just in case Savannah was gone, or they didn’t make it
there.

Shane walked to the trunk of the
car; there was plenty of space and would be more if he pushed the seats
forward. He noticed a board on a wall with more sets of keys. There were
vehicles all over the property and he debated selecting something different;
one of the wreckers out front perhaps, or a rusted van he’d spotted from the
roof. In the end, he stuck with the sedan because it was a known and the
bandits had selected it for a reason.

He found two large canvas duffel
bags filled with junk; Shane dumped the contents on the floor and returned to
the food stores. He began selecting things that could be considered entire
meals or that were high in protein. He stuffed the spaces in between with the
plastic-wrapped dried meats, small packages of crackers, and other dry goods. He
found four large jugs of water that he stored behind the backseats. Shane
loaded the rest of the empty SKS magazine and poured the remaining rounds from
the Spam can into a pouch on his rucksack.

Once the car was fully packed and
loaded, he pulled it out of the garage and parked it just in front of the
sliding gate. Tactically parked, he called it. If anything happened and
they needed to bug out quick, he could slide the gate and go. Last thing he
wanted was to be surrounded and stuck in the garage with the things pressed
against the sliding door. This way he could cause a distraction near the overhead
doors and sneak out a different exit. He left the keys in the ignition and
walked back through the front door of the building. He found Ella with the tiny
backpack. She was sorting through other cans of food and had apparently
discovered a secret stash of candy.

“Hey, where’d you find the
goodies?” he asked, watching her sort through a large freezer bag of
individually wrapped chocolates.

“There,” she answered, pointing to
a wooden foot locker.

Shane walked across the room and
opened the lid. It was stuffed with personal items—socks, faded T-shirts, periodicals.
Shane found a small leather bag; inside it were bottles of prescription drugs. He
stared at one labeled Vicodin with a woman’s name. Shane removed the cap
and shook the bottle; it was at least half full. He had stopped taking his own pills
the morning he left his apartment, fully intending not to see another day. His
pain was still real—a constant reminder of his injuries—but his thoughts were
clearer now. Shane poured the contents of the bottle into the palm of his hand.
He looked at them, moving them around with his index finger.

“Did you find candy, Shane?” Ella
asked.

Suddenly feeling guilty, Shane
closed his palm on the pills then poured them back into the bottle. He placed
the bottle back into the small leather bag, zipped it shut and held it, trying
to decide what to do with it. He reached across and slammed the wooden locker
shut before returning to the task of packing for the trip. As he walked by his
rucksack, he stuffed the leather bag into an outside pocket. It was still
medicine and might be needed, he justified to himself.

He built a small fire and prepared
cans of chicken soup for lunch. He made coffee and strained juice from the cans
of fruit to mix with water for Ella. He kept the fire small and made up of dry
sticks so that the smell of wood smoke would be harder to detect. He was still
unsure about the sounds of combat he’d heard earlier in the day and he didn’t
want to attract unwanted guests. He ate as much as he could hold and encouraged
Ella to overeat as well. It was important to pick up as many calories as
possible when they had the opportunity.

Shane let the fire burn itself out,
not wanting to smother it and cause extra smoke. Ella was asleep again. She
didn’t like to let him know, but he was aware how hard the traveling was on her.
Shane poured the rest of the fruit drink mix into a glass on the table and then
went to clean up their dinner mess. He checked the back doors to make sure
everything was bolted tight, then went by himself to search the front offices
he’d bypassed earlier.

He walked the hallway and stopped
at the wooden office door. The bottom of it was kicked and broken, the glass
cracked and chipped. Shane turned the knob and let the door swing in. The
office was dark and stunk of cigarette smoke. A clay ashtray filled with butts
sat on a desk covered with yellow receipt paper and other forms. An old beige
computer was on the floor in the corner with a dusty tube monitor sitting on
top. Shane moved around the desk and sat in a torn vinyl roller chair. He
opened the top drawer; it was filled with junk, rusty car parts, and bolts. The
next drawer held files and a box of envelopes. Shane leaned back in the chair
and looked at the walls. There were photos of old men on the covers of
calendars—previous owners he imagined.

Shane got up and left the office,
closing the door behind him. He walked into the storefront and looked around.
An antique register was on the counter. Shane hit a button and a drawer rolled
open to reveal the tray still filled with cash, small bills, nothing larger
than a ten. Paper currency no longer held value, but he still grabbed a fistful
of the dry bills to use as fire starter. He folded the stack in half and
stuffed it in his pocket. Shane turned to leave, then paused as he heard the
sound of the helicopter.

He walked to the front door and
cracked it open. There was little cloud cover, the skies were blue, and he
could see the treetops blowing in a soft breeze high above the fence. The
helicopter was high-pitched and getting louder; it seemed to be moving in his
direction. Shane stayed in the cover of the doorway searching the sky as it flew
past him, traveling just above the treetops and flying fast. It was a small scout
helicopter. They’d called them Little Birds when he was in the army. He could
see two men clad in black holding rifles, hanging from the sides and riding the
skids of the helicopter.

The Little Bird moved fast then
climbed at a sharp angle before seeming to float in the sky. The nose turned
around, it quickly dropped altitude, and then shot back up the road in the
opposite direction headed for the river. As it moved out of sight, Shane
recognized the sound of 70 millimeter rockets being launched and the sharp
explosions. Deep in the trees, less than a few miles away, dark plumes of gray
smoke filled the air. Automatic weapons fire joined in the mix; he could tell
from the sounds that it was ground based and 5.56. More explosions and more
gunfire sounded before the Little Bird sped past him again, made the same
turning motion, and dropped low to the road. Shane watched as the men on the
skids fired down the street while the Little Bird shot past, just above the
treetops, and straight down the road.

He felt a thump against his leg and
saw Ella had found him; her head was buried in the fabric of his pants. Shane
dropped his right arm to her shoulder as he backed into the storefront. He
pushed the door three-quarters of the way shut and looked at the sky through
the narrow crack. The helicopter changed pitch and made a whining sound. As it
drew closer, he watched it cut up out of the tree line at an odd angle; it spun
around to the side, gaining altitude as it spun. Its nose dipped, then it dropped
and increased speed before it completely vanished out of his line of sight. A
large explosion shook the trees. Shane pulled inside and closed the door behind
him. He then turned the bolt lock, latching the door.

Ella was sobbing. He reached down
and picked her up. She buried her head in his shoulder and cried. “Can we go,
Shane?”

Shane leaned back, pressing against
the door, trying to decide what to do. Keeping Ella cradled in his arms, he
hurried to the living space. He grabbed his nearly empty M4 and placed it on
top of his rucksack, clipping the D-ring to one of the straps. He slung the SKS
over his shoulder, reached for his bag, and then paused, second guessing himself.
Shane paced around the room, fighting the acid bile of panic building in his
stomach. He took a deep breath and stood in front of his rucksack.

It started; the wailing of the
infected. The helicopter and gunfight stirred up everything in the area—and
they were on the hunt. They were loud and seemed to surround him. Even inside
the fences and enclosed in the block building he could hear the howls as they
woke. Shane, still carrying Ella, moved to a back window and pulled back a roll
down blind.

The yard was still empty but the
moans of the infected filled the air, then slowly turned to a roar. They were
no longer hunting… they’d found their prey.

CHAPTER 26

Sean, Brooks, and Meyers were setting
a quick pace in the front of the formation. The rest of the team made up the
rest of the column, staggered on the left and right sides of the road. Howard
was next to Gunner who was still grilling him for information.

During the Battle of the Meat Grinder,
the military switched from a defensive operation to a full withdrawal. The Pentagon
was evacuated along with every high-ranking government official who was willing
to go. The President held firm though; most of his staff, and even some of the
elite military units, stood by his side to the end. There were rumors he was
alive in a bunker or on some remote island. People even claimed to have seen a
video broadcast from Bermuda.

After the Meat Grinder, states
retracted from the federal government. Territorial lines were drawn and new
alliances were made. Howard and his group landed in the southern portion of the
Midwest Alliance. Texas was the second stronghold, and then there was Colorado.
By circumstance, the CNRT was located in bunker complexes deep in the Rocky Mountains.

Early on, the Coordinated National Response
Team was just what the name said it was; they shared national resources to help
provide stability to what was left of the nation.  As state governments became
more isolated, the CNRT began losing control of federal assets located within
state borders—reserve units, federal agencies, major airports, and oil
pipelines. The CNRT grew more aggressive. It was then that the leaders of the
Midwest Alliance discovered the CNRT’s efforts to prevent the nation from
finding a cure. Defectors claimed the CNRT leadership believed the only way to
unite the country would be with a cure, and the party holding the cure would
come out on top.

The group didn’t make it far before
they picked up on the sounds of the searching helicopter. When they heard the
thump of the Little Bird, Sean waved them into the wood line. They quickly scrambled
into the trees moments before the helicopter cut perpendicular to the road,
just behind and north of their location. It flew fast, making itself visible
for less than a second.

Sean called them back up and took
off again, this time at a near run. The sounds of the helicopter faded, then
slowly increased as it looped back for another run.

“How the hell do they know we’re
here?” Gunner yelled as he pushed Howard ahead of him.

“I don’t know!” Howard said
wheezing. “Maybe the boat crew said something… told someone we were looking for
the girl.”

The helicopter sounded like it was
right on top of them and Sean, again, signaled for them to get off the road. Brad
ran for thick cover just as the helicopter, this time coming from behind, flew
down the center, following the road just above the trees and continued past
them.

Sean yelled all clear and called
them back to their feet. As Brad moved to the road, he saw the bloated body of
a fat man with gunshot wounds to the head and face. He pointed it out to
Gunner, who only nodded in response. When they resumed running, Brad saw a spot
where the gravel on the shoulder of the road was chewed up and black tire marks
covered the pavement. Primal bodies were in the grass and lying on the blacktop
near the spot. As they ran by, Brooks paused to grab the loose gravel and
tumble it through a gloved hand. Brad ran up and stopped beside him.

Brooks looked at him. “Something
happened here. We’re getting closer.”

“Did you see the dead fat man?”

Brooks looked up the road as the
last of the team ran past. “I did, and those were .22 shell casings on the
ground, same as at the farmhouse. I think the soldier was our shooter.”

Brooks stretched out an arm and
pushed Brad into the tree line as the Little Bird came back into view directly
ahead of them. The Little Bird lined up and angled down.  Brad saw a flash as
rockets smoked in their direction. He ran farther into the trees and buried his
head. The rockets overshot and landed more than fifty feet behind them before
the explosions shook the ground. As the bird flew out of range again, everyone
was back up and running—this time without being told. The helicopter’s pitch
changed as it turned and lined back up with the road. Again, they dove for the
tree line as it flew by; Brad and the others rolled to their backs, now firing
on the helicopter. The bird juked and rose in elevation but continued its track
down the road.

Sean ordered everyone on their
feet, and then pointed to logs crisscrossing the road far in the distance, “Go,
go! When you hear it, get to cover.”

Sean stood on the side of the road
and had removed the long rifle from his pack. “Let’s finish this shit, Brooks!”
he yelled when Brooks and Brad hit his position.

Brooks stopped, understanding the
suggestion. He removed his own rifle from his back and dropped to the grass on
the side of the road next to Sean. “You better catch up with the team, Brad,”
Brooks said in a calm voice as he removed the lens caps from his rifle’s scope.

Brad turned and sprinted, trying to
catch up with the others. The Little Bird cut back into view far to the south.
It looked blurry cutting through the heat waves of its own exhaust as it
dropped lower and angled forward. Brad watched the rest of the team dive for
cover. Men in black uniforms leaned out from the sides of the Little Bird. Suspended
from safety lanyards, they stood and raised their rifles, firing at Brad’s men crawling
for cover.

The world slowed down. Brad felt
rage seeing the men hanging and firing on his people. He stopped in the center
of the street and planted his feet. He raised his rifle and aimed high, just
above the quickly approaching helicopter. He used his thumb to rotate the
selector switch to full auto and pumped the trigger, releasing three to four
round bursts and adjusting his point of aim after every trigger squeeze. In
slow motion, he watched the road all around him become pockmarked as incoming
rounds impacted the pavement and kicked up tiny clouds of white dust.

Brad was focused on the windscreen
of the Little Bird. It was close enough now that he could see the helmeted men
wearing dark goggles at the controls. Brad pulled the trigger again, feeling
the bolt lock to the rear. Keeping his eyes on target, he used his firing hand
to push the magazine release button. His left hand dropped, found a new
magazine in his chest rig, and fed the rifle. Slapping the magazine in place,
he brought up his left thumb and pressed the bolt release as he watched the Little
Bird’s windscreen split and spider web.

The helicopter dipped, losing
altitude, then screamed as it turned abruptly, climbing at a steep angle
directly into the sky and nearly clipping nearby trees. It cut up and out of
sight to the right, then shot past them; nearly inverted as it crossed over the
road diving at a deep angle.

Brad felt the concussion in the
trees as the helicopter impacted with the ground.

“Hey, dumb ass! What was that?”
Sean yelled from behind him.

Brad let his rifle hang in his
right hand. He turned, looking back as he reacquired his senses.

Sean was still on the ground,
changing magazines in the rifle. He got to a knee and climbed to his feet just
as Brooks did the same thing to the right and a few feet behind him. “Maybe
make this the last time you play chicken with a helicopter,” Sean said,
stepping back onto the surface of the road.

“I think we can discuss Sergeant
Thompson’s extreme acts of dumbassery at another time. That helo crash is gonna
piss off the Primals; you know how ornery they get when they wake up early,”
Brooks said, walking past at a quick pace.

Fulfilling Brooks’ prediction, they
began to hear the sounds of the screaming Primals. Brooks picked up his pace and
Brad joined him on the road at nearly a full sprint. The team was ahead,
setting up a hasty fortification in the log barriers. Gunner was pointing and
yelling instructions as the others closed off the logs to build a square logged-in
perimeter. Parker and Joey were dragging in more trees from the edge of the
woods. Brad ran to assist them and helped Joey toss a log into the barrier as
the first of the Primals came into view.

Meyers raised his rifle and dropped
the first creature with two well-placed shots. Brad quickly climbed over the
logs and took a position facing the tree line. The others spread out, providing
cover in all directions. Howard was standing in the middle of the circle, not
knowing what to do, while Gunner slapped Brad on the back and pointed him to a
section of the perimeter. Brad dropped his pack on the ground in front of him,
pulled his extra magazines from pouches and laid them on top, then unsnapped
his tomahawk and stuck it into the log to his front. He readied his rifle and
looked ahead. He was watching the twelve o’clock portion of the perimeter and
was responsible for anything from nine to three. Sean and Brooks to his left at
the nine would overlap their sectors, covering from twelve to six. This
repeated around the circle of security.

He could hear the sounds of the Primals
crashing through the brush, the moans eerily echoing through the dark trees. Chelsea
moved in beside him and looked over at him uncomfortably. Brad reached out his
left hand and squeezed her shoulder. “We got this, breathe and shoot,” he told
her over the roar of the Primals.

Chelsea forced a nervous grin and
brought the rifle into the pocket of her shoulder, her voice cracked when she
spoke. “We got this.”

Joey was to Brad’s right on the
three beating his chest and screaming profanities back into the woods. “Come
get some, you Primal pricks! I’m going to shoot you in the fucking face!”
Joey’s yelling motivated the rest. Parker joined in screaming back at the Primals
and they were all yelling as the first mass broke the tree line behind Brad. He
heard Gunner and Meyers open up at the six o’clock position, then Joey and
Parker at the three.

When Chelsea turned to assist them,
Brad held up his hand and pointed back to their front. “Watch our sector; they
will call out if they need us.” As he spoke, he saw a male in jeans and a blood-stained
T-shirt, his face overgrown with a matted beard and a head of gnarled hair, running
full speed and screaming. Brad hesitated, captivated by the crazy’s fierce eyes
as he ran, crashing through brush unconcerned by the limbs pulling and
scratching at his face. Chelsea fired to his left. Brad brought up his rifle
and pulled the trigger, dropping the bearded Primal. He then shifted to the
next one and pulled the trigger.

He shifted fire; they were coming
in twos and threes, closing on them quickly. Chelsea called out that she was
reloading. Brad pivoted so that he could see farther and cover her position. She
went back online as he fired a last round. He hastily reloaded as one of them
broke into the front of the barrier. Brad turned hard, grabbed the hawk, and
slapped the Primal hard on the head, knocking it off its feet. He finished
reloading and shot the thing in the head just as it began to get back up.  To
the front, they were stacking up, pushing into each other as they ran out of
the trees in a full mob, and tripping over the bodies of those already dropped.

Brad swiveled left and right,
taking aimed shots, but as fast as he knocked one down, another would take its
place. They were now in against the logs, trying to climb over and get at the
shooters inside. Gunner called out over the gunfire and roar of the infected. “Keep
it up! Nothing gets through. Every shot counts!”

Joey yelled, “Frag out!”

Brad looked to his right and saw
why. The road was packed with them; a parade of infected, pressing against each
other, struggling to get to the barricaded men. The grenade exploded, creating
a deep void in the mass that was quickly filled in by more. Joey laughed
manically, “Is that all you got you pussies!” He reached down and lifted the
M249 Squad automatic weapon that Parker had packed in, but they had hesitated
to use because of noise discipline. Noise was no longer a concern. Joey climbed
up on the first row of logs and let loose with a long burst. “How you like that?!”
he screamed as he cut through the advancing wave.

Parker joined in the screaming;
firing a 40mm from his M203, the grenade landed deep in the mass. The ABHE
round bounced off the road and detonated just above the heads of the advancing
mob. The blast was loud, the concussion nearly knocking Brad off his feet. A
fifty meter swath of Primals was blown to the ground, tiny bits of
fragmentation ripping their bodies apart. Parker reloaded and fired into
another mass with the same effect. “Yes!” he screamed as he reloaded to fire
again.

“Get some Parker! Get some!” Joey
screamed as he swung to the left, firing the rest of the belted ammo until the SAW
was dry.

Brad turned back to the front. The
mob was thinning out; many were on the ground dying, and the logs were twisted
with their shattered and wrecked bodies. He searched, knocking down any still
on their feet. The attack was over, the wave destroyed.

“Mount up; we need to move before
more show up!” Gunner yelled.

No time for high fives or
celebrating, they quickly reloaded their weapons and threw their rucks over
their shoulders. They were back on the road and running through the broken, ravaged
bodies of the Primals. They had to get out of the area quickly before more
packs showed up. Brooks and Sean were at the front of the column.  Occasionally,
a suppressed burst from their weapons would cut down a stray Primal that
intersected with them.

They rounded a corner where a
vehicle with a smashed-in front sat, blocking the road. Farther into the field,
they saw a truck buried in mud to its floorboards. They posted security around
the car as Brooks pried open the front door.

“Keys are in it,” he shouted as he slid
into the seat. The car cranked hard, then started.  The fan belt squeaked loudly
as Brooks revved the engine. Sean used his hawk to pry bent and twisted sheet metal
away from the front tire. Brad reached in with gloved hands and grabbed
portions of the destroyed fender. Together, they managed to pull enough away so
that Brooks could turn the wheel.

“Pile on,” Gunner ordered.

They pushed Howard into the back
seat with Gunner on one side and Chelsea on the other. Sean and Meyers crammed
in the front with Brooks. The rest climbed in or onto the vehicle, searching
for a spot to attach themselves. Brooks put the car in gear and eased it onto
the roadway. It pulled to the left and made an awful sound as it rolled, but it
still beat walking.

CHAPTER 27

“Stay ahead of it,” Shane mumbled,
standing on the roof looking far down the road.

Ella was next to him; she’d refused
to leave his side since the first sounds of whatever battle was raging. He’d
seen the helicopter crash and had climbed to the roof for a better vantage
point as the roars of the infected built. They were all congregating at a point
somewhere north on the road. He could hear them moaning and howling as they
closed in on their prey.

Gunfire erupted; slowly at first, then
all at once, there was a heavy barrage of concentrated fire. He heard the
familiar sounds of a SAW and the thump of a forty mike-mike. Smoke billowed up
in the trees; it was close, just near the position where he met the bandits. The
shooting stopped after the moaning, indicating that, whoever they were, they
survived the onslaught. They were well-armed and well-trained.

Are they friendly?

Shane looked at Ella—he couldn’t
risk it. He lifted her up and she wrapped her arms around his neck in a tight
hug. He moved back to the ladder and had her hold on tight as he dropped back
into the garage below. The moaning was gone. The gunfire stopped. He knew the
battle would attract others and they would be heavily concentrated in this area
by sundown. Large packs all over the countryside were probably already on the
move, trying to get here to join the hunt.

Now was the time to go.

He put Ella down and had her hold
his belt, wanting to keep her within arm’s reach. He lifted his heavy rucksack
with his left hand and pulled it over both shoulders. He took the SKS in his
right hand and checked the action, verifying it was ready.

“Are we leaving now?” Ella asked. Her
face was pale against the dark purple rings under her eyes. She was frightened
and sensed the lurking dangers. The stress was taking a heavy toll on her. Shane
reached for her hand and felt her cold fingers. He stopped and dropped to his
knees, facing her.

“We’re leaving now,” Shane
whispered to her.

She moved forward and clung to him
in a tight hug, burying her head in his chest. He put his hand on the back of
her head. “It’s okay, Ella, I’ll take care of you,” he whispered.

“I love you, Shane,” she said.

He let his hand drop to her back.  As
he hugged her tight, he felt tears forming in his eyes. Shane hadn’t heard
those words spoken to him since he was a boy her age— from his mother, maybe. His
Grandfather wasn’t the type to be slowed up by emotions.

“I… love you too, Ella,” his voice
breaking as he whispered the words.

He slung the rifle and lifted Ella,
cradling her in his arms. He stood easily, not feeling the weight of the pack. Shane
walked through the building to the front for the last time and opened the store’s
front door; a quick look left and right verified the yard was still clear. He
moved to the sedan and strapped Ella into the front seat. He removed his pack
and stuffed it into the trunk with the rest of their stuff, then closed the
doors and climbed onto the hood of the car so he could see over the fence. He
listened intently. It’d been some time since he’d heard a gunshot or infected
moan. He needed to move while he could. Shane jumped off the hood of the car
and faced the cipher lock. He drew a blank trying to remember the code.

“Oh no, it was some NASCAR shit. What
was it, dammit?” He stepped back looking at the fence.

Shane punched numbers and turned
the knob.  It refused to move. “Oh, what the hell!” he said frustration growing.
“Where’s Kyle when you need him?”

“880…” he said to himself.

He punched in the three numbers,
not remembering the last. 8800, nothing; 8801, nothing; 8802, nothing;
8803, the knob turned and the latch clunked open. Shane reached for a pull
handle and slid the door open, then returned to the car. The engine started
easily and he pulled through until he’d just cleared the gate. He looked at the
opening for a moment, then jumped from the car. He grabbed the gate and slid it
shut, not wanting to give up the refuge to the infected. Shane ran back to the
open door of the car and heard a loud squeal coming from up the road.

“What now?” he said just above a
whisper.

He was standing in the open doorway
with his rifle still slung over his shoulder. He looked north as a vehicle
slowly came into view. It was smoking from a smashed in front end. He
recognized it as the car he’d plowed into with the old pickup truck. Uniformed
men were riding on the hood and roof of the vehicle; they were armed with
military rifles and wearing web gear. Shane considered getting in the car and
racing away.

He could see the men clearly; they
looked back at him with their weapons down. Shane felt the weight of the SKS on
his shoulder. He removed it and held it loosely in his grip as the car
approached. He froze, watching them. Ella undid her seat belt and climbed
across; she sat up on her knees next to him.

“Look, Shane! Soldiers like you,” she
said.

He let go of the SKS and put his
hand on her shoulder. “Okay, Ella, let’s see.”

The car pulled up close, then
parked diagonally on the road. The driver cut the engine and the vehicle
coughed and sputtered. Soldiers on the roof leapt off and took up security on
both sides. Shane immediately noticed that no one had pointed a rifle at him. Doors
opened and more soldiers got out; a man in a flight suit approached speaking
quickly, too fast for Shane to understand. He said he was a doctor and that he
was looking for them. He moved at Shane; Ella was scared and cowered behind
him.

Shane shielded her with his arm.
“Okay, that’s close enough!”

“Is it her?” the doctor asked.

Shane looked at him confused. “Who
are you?”

“Her arm, was she bitten?”

Shane looked down at Ella then at
the doctor, understanding what he was asking. He took his arm off of Ella so
she could lean out. She held up her wrist and carefully rolled up her sleeve,
showing the nearly healed wound. The doctor suddenly laughed and stepped closer.
Shane again held up his hand, cautioning the doctor to stay back, this time
putting the other on the grip of the pistol in his waist band.

An older man with a 1911 in a
shoulder holster stepped forward, putting a hand on the doctor and directing
him away. “It’s okay, soldier. We’ve been looking for you; looking for the girl
to be honest with ya. We know you were at Fort Collins.”

“You know about Collins?” Shane
asked.

Shane looked at them all.  They
were military; he could tell by their posture. A young woman smiled at him. She
noticed his stare. “You did good. We’re here to help you.”

The old soldier spoke again, “Why
don’t you take the girl into the back seat with you, we really need to put some
distance on this place. We can talk on the way.”

Shane looked at all of them again
and nodded. He turned, allowing Ella to climb into his arms, and stepped away
from the open door. The young woman came forward and opened the back for him
and he dropped into the back seat, the female moving in beside him. The doctor
ran around the car and got in the other side, cramming him into the middle
between them. The old soldier got in the driver’s seat while another got in
front.

Shane sat back in the seat while
Ella curled into his lap and hid her face from the others. He looked straight
ahead. The second vehicle cranked back to life. Soldiers jumped into it,
slamming doors. The old soldier in front put the sedan in gear and they pulled
away. The doctor next to him reached for Ella’s arm. Shane’s hand shot up and
snatched the doctor’s wrist. “Not now!” he said calmly.

The old soldier looked in the rear
view mirror at him and the rank on his uniform. “It’s okay, Sergeant. The Doc
just wants to make sure she’s okay.”

Shane let go of the doctor’s wrist
and looked down at the rank tab on his jacket. “She’s fine. Just tired is all;
and I’m not a sergeant anymore. I was medically retired years ago.  You can
call me Shane.”

“Well, Shane, you’ve done a hell of
a job. You could call me retired as well, although it’d be hard to tell these
days.”

“Who are you? Where did you come
from?”

Gunner made introductions, then explained
to Shane what their mission was and how the British were involved. The doctor
told him about Ella, how important she was, and how she may be immune to the
virus. Shane stayed quiet while listening to their story.

“Where were you going?” Chelsea
asked. When she spoke, Ella lifted her head and looked at her.

Shane looked down at Ella, moving
the hair out of her eyes. “Savannah. I thought it might still be there. Heard
stories about them back at Collins.”

Gunner looked back at him. “Makes
sense, it’s not far from here. What do you think, Doc; you know anything about
Hunter Air Field, near Savannah?”

Howard shook his head. “Never heard
of it.”

Gunner nodded. “Hunter it is then!”

CHAPTER 28

“We need to find a place to hold
up,” Brooks said, looking wearily at the gauges.

They’d been driving a couple hours,
following the Sedan in front of them and not knowing where they were going. The
car was overheating and they could barely make thirty miles an hour before the
wheel would begin shaking so bad, Brooks couldn’t control it. Brooks was
growing frustrated trying to keep up with the sedan. He would speed up and
listen to the engine squeal as the belts rubbed and blue smoke shot from the
exhaust.

“I’m serious, man; this thing is
barely holding together,” Brooks said.

“Flash your lights and see if you
can get their attention,” Sean answered.

Brad was riding in the back of the
car behind Brooks, his rucksack on his lap. He wasn’t paying attention to the
conversation in the front.  He had his head turned, looking at the dilapidated
and abandoned homes on the side of the road. He’d seen this all before, but
that was far from home. Now things were setting in. The US was affected; things
really had fallen apart here and his family may not be okay. Parker’s
head dropped and hit Brad’s arm. He shrugged, waking Parker who jumped up,
looking in both directions before laying his head back and drifting off again.

It was frustrating not knowing
where they were headed. He thought they would race back to Charleston or back
to the river and take the quickest route back to Sumter.

Why south?

After they located the girl, they
loaded up in the cars and drove south. At the time, it seemed logical; they’d
just fought off the horde on the road to the north. But still, he thought
sooner or later, they would loop back around toward the river, contact Kelli,
and wait for evac. They took several turns when roads became blocked or a
bridge was out; always moving south-west away from the river. They kept an eye
open for other vehicles, something they could upgrade to, but most things with
wheels were already cannibalized, pushed off the road into ditches, or
deadlocked in massive pileups.

Brooks cautiously sped up and drove
close to the sedan in front of them. He tapped his horn and flashed his lights.
The lead vehicle pulled slightly to the side and Gunner lowered his window.
Brooks pulled up alongside as Sean leaned out an open window.

“This thing is about to shit the
bed. We need to find someplace solid to hold up before we get stranded on the
road.”

Gunner nodded in agreement. “Meyers’
map shows a town ahead.  We can hold up there.”

Gunner put the sedan back in gear
and pulled back ahead. Before long, they were passing signs pointing to a town
a few miles ahead. Brooks slapped the dash. “Come on, baby, we’re almost
there.”

The country road grew more
congested as they approached the town. Cars blocked the center of the road and
barriers were set up at intersections. Long since abandoned police roadblocks
were marked with decomposed bodies and deserted police cruisers. Brooks eased
the car onto the shoulder, following the sedan, and drove through the tall
grass, avoiding roadblocks and disabled cars. The sedan approached a rolled
over, burnt out bus blocking the road and turned onto a residential street,
searching for a way around it. The area they entered was devastated. The entire
block had burned to the ground; only charred skeletons of homes remained.

The sedan in front slowed as they
spotted an old brick school building at the end of the street. One story and
shaped like a shoe box, the building was fenced in and its heavy, wooden double
doors still remained closed at the entrance. The rest of the doors appeared
closed, as well, and the windows unbroken. The sedan pulled along the fence and
followed it around, to an access road that ran to a blacktop parking lot and
back entrance. The sedan stopped, then backed up slightly before the engine
shut off. Brooks parked farther away, turned off the key, and listened to the
motor sputter to death.

Brad and the others exited the
broken car and gathered at a small sidewalk that led to a chained fire door.  Brad
turned in a slow 360, surveying the area. They were in the center of a small
neighborhood that was clearly abandoned—presumably because of the fire that had
swept the area and consumed every home within eyesight. A row of destroyed
storefronts sat on a far street, windows shattered, doors removed. Looking
closer, the school sat alone surrounded by tall grass. The brick-faced elementary
building filled an entire block and was set back from the road on all sides—probably
the only reason it was spared as the fire leapt from home to home. Brad could
see the sky was beginning to darken; a wind had picked up and black clouds were
on the horizon

Gunner and the others approached
from the sedan. Brad saw the soldier carrying the girl and walking between the
doctor and Chelsea. “Let’s get inside,” Gunner said.

Sean grunted and looked at Brad and
Brooks.  “We’re up. Joey, you and Parker have rear security. Once we clear the
entrance, get everyone inside while we clear the building.”

“Aye, Chief,” Joey answered.

They moved to the chained door with
a large combination lock attached. Brooks pulled out his tomahawk and placed
the spike into the hasp attached to the building rather than the chain. He pulled
down using his weight, causing the hasp to bend, twist, creak away, and then pull
out of the door frame with its long screws still attached. With the chain
removed, Sean stepped forward and, using a lock pick, quickly opened the door. It
clunked; an old rusty spring protested as it was used for the first time in
months. Brooks shrugged his shoulders, stretched his back, then brought his MP5
up to his eye and stepped into the hallway. Brad followed him through next,
then Sean.

Brooks stepped, looking to the
right while Brad took the left. The hallway was still dimly lit by the fading
light, but they would have to move quickly.  Soon it would be too dark inside
for the unaided eye. The hallway was spotless; no sign that anyone had walked
the halls in months. Classroom doors on both sides of the hallway were closed.  A
tall window sat dark with blinds covering the glass. Brad moved to a wall and
kept his rifle up, looking down the long hallway while the rest of the team
filed in.  Joey moved up next to Brad, then took a knee next to a wall filled
with lockers. “I got ya, Bro,” Joey whispered.

Brad slapped him on the shoulder
before turning to meet up with Brooks and Sean. They moved down the hallway to
one end, checking rooms as they passed. The classroom doors were all locked so
they looked through the glass and spotted empty classrooms with chairs up on
the desks. They checked every classroom on one end then turned and walked back
in the other direction, doing the same. They met a dark intersecting hallway
where Sean ordered them to turn on their lights. They moved down at a slight
angle. Near the midpoint of the hallway was another tall double fire door. Brooks
quietly moved to it and pushed on the operating bar; the door clunked and swung
in, revealing a large, open gymnasium with a cafeteria window on the back wall.

Brooks turned to look at Sean who
gave him a thumbs up. They continued down the hall to where the front entrance
was. The tall double doors were also secured and, looking through the window,
Brad could see there were chains on the outside. They turned and walked back up
the hallway, passing the long glass window of what was the front office. A
large banner was hung in the window, encouraging passersby to enjoy your
summer!  The office door was locked and they didn’t bother attempting to
gain entry.

They returned to the back entrance where
the rest of the group was waiting. Sean moved up alongside Gunner and spoke to
him quietly. “Okay,” Gunner said, “there’s a gymnasium and a cafeteria up front,
let’s get settled in there.”

Brad stood by the wall as the
others picked up their weapons and moved past him. He checked the back entrance
and found it locked. “What are you doing?” Chelsea said.

Brad turned around to look at her
in the dark. “I just wanted to make sure the door was locked before we left the
hallway… and to grab some quiet time.” Brad walked to the opposite wall and sat
on the floor, his back pushing against the lockers. Chelsea removed her
rucksack and sat next to him.

“What happens now?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Did Gunner say where
we’re going?”

“Savannah,” she said.

“The Ranger base? We aren’t going
back to Sumter?”

“Shane—the soldier—said he was
headed there; he thought there may be something left.”

“What did you think of him—Shane?”

“He’s a mess, same as the girl. She
didn’t speak the entire way here. He mumbled a bit and has that look like he’s
lost inside.”

A rumble of thunder sounded from
far in the distance. They sat and listened as the wind picked up and a hard
rain started to fall. Gusts rattled the door, causing Chelsea to jump. Brad put
his hand on her knee and she slid closer.

“Did you see Joey during the
fight,” Chelsea asked.

“Yeah. He turned things around for
us.”

“Is it always like that?”

“It’s never the same.”

Brad got back to his feet and
pulled Chelsea up. “Let’s join to the others before rumors starts,” he joked.

“I’ve missed you, Brad.”

“I know; I missed you too.”

CHAPTER 29

The school was dark and from where
they were gathered in the gymnasium, only the sounds of the howling wind and
rain beating on the flat roof above them could be heard. The small school
cafeteria was searched but found empty. They weren’t really surprised; the
school was closed up for the summer session so the pantries and storage rooms
were bare. Once settled in, they broke into the office and set up an
observation post behind the pane glass windows. Sean posted them in separate
teams of two with a roving guard making rounds every fifteen minutes. Brooks
and Joey were in the front office, with Parker and Brad holding position in a
back classroom that overlooked the parking lot and their vehicles.

Sean moved between the posts,
switching off with Gunner and Meyers when needed. The observation teams would
hold in position until dawn, one of them being allowed to sleep while the other
would stay on the IR scope, making sure nothing snuck up on them. Using a GPS
and Meyers’ map, they were able to pinpoint their location; still a good hour’s
drive from Savannah by car. They checked in with the submarine using an
encrypted satellite phone that Meyers guaranteed couldn’t be tracked. The sub,
in turn, would relay a message to Kelli at the fort and warn her of the CNRT.

Shane stood guard in a corner of
the gymnasium. It took some convincing, but he finally agreed to allow the
doctor to give Ella a thorough examination—as long as the female marine stayed close
by and kept an eye on things. He had his back to them as they undressed her and
went over every inch of her body. The sun had completely dropped now. The only
light coming into the room was from the sharp bolts of lightning and a low
battery-powered light they allowed the doctor to use.

He began to meet some of the team;
they were an odd and mixed group. Sailors, soldiers, Marines, even some sort of
British Special Forces guy, then the doctor, and who knew what the crusty old
soldier was. Shane figured him for a black water type, one of the seasoned
contractors he’d seen doing special project work for the government in Iraq. Regardless,
they all seemed friendly and took a special interest in keeping the girl safe.

The day he found her, he thought he
would turn her over to the first trustworthy group he found. That he’d be happy
to be rid of her and back on his own to continue his death wish, as
others would see it. Shane touched his hand to his shirt pocket and pulled out
the photo. Carefully, he unfolded it; the image had faded but he could still
see their faces,  He knew all of their names. He didn’t consider himself
suicidal; he just didn’t give a shit anymore. Or, he used to feel that way.  Since
Ella, he had a new purpose, he felt energized again… needed. She saved him.

Shane knew she was special, but was
having a hard time digesting the story that the doctor told him. That she could
be used as a cure. The healed bite marks and the fact that she never turned was
undeniable. Shane couldn’t explain it, why she didn’t turn. He was never a big
picture kind of guy; he didn’t concern himself with such issues, and he never
tried to. In Shane’s mind, he counted the girl as blessed, lucky, maybe it
wasn’t a Primal bite. Maybe they were wrong and maybe something else happened
to her. He asked her about the wound before, but she didn’t remember or refused
to talk about it. Shane didn’t press her; in the end he didn’t care.  It didn’t
matter to him.

Shane heard Ella whine and he spun
around.  The doctor held a syringe in his hand and was trying to restrain
Ella’s arm. She was crying and pulling away. The female was kneeling, holding
Ella’s other hand, stroking her back, and speaking to her calmly. The doctor
was startled by Shane’s quick movement and pulled back the hand holding the
syringe.

“What are you doing?” Shane asked,
stepping forward.

“It’s okay, Shane. The doctor just
needs a blood sample,” Chelsea answered in a low voice.

“I’ll decide what’s okay. Why does
he need a sample? I don’t see a lab here.”

The doctor stopped and looked at
Shane. Speaking clinically, he said, “We need a complete medical record on her
in the event we fail to deliver her to the facility in Ohio.”

“You what?!” Shane said, stepping
forward. He snatched the syringe from the doctor’s hand and dropped it to the
floor, then crushed it with his boot. “You need me to smash anything else, or
can we end this conversation?” Shane put up a closed fist as if he was ready to
hit the doctor. He slowly lowered his hand and walked to Ella who jumped from
the chair and climbed into his arms. Shane turned to walk away and find their
spot near the table with the others.

Howard chased off after him. “Are
you mad? Don’t you understand that this girl’s blood could save the world?”
Howard said, becoming enraged.

Shane spun around and pushed
forward, looking the doctor in the eye. “Do you understand that this little
girl is my world, that she’s all I care about? If you need a sample, you
better help me get her to Ohio.”

Hearing the discussion, Meyers woke
from where he was resting on a cafeteria table. He yawned intentionally loud to
catch the others’ attention. “Problem, mates?” he said, providing the break
Shane needed to walk away. He moved across the room and sat Ella on his pack,
then pulled the rolled green blanket from the side carrier and wrapped it
around her shoulders.

Howard stepped away from the
examination area, glaring at Shane and walked quickly to Meyers. “Your friend
here is refusing to allow me to take a contingency sample!” he gasped.

Meyers stretched and prepared to
answer, but before he had the chance, the gymnasium doors opened; Brad and the Navy
chief poured in. Shane looked up, watching the men close and secure the door
behind them.

“We have a problem,” the Seal Team chief
exclaimed.

Gunner yawned and pushed himself up
to his feet. “I knew I should have slept with my boots on, what is it?”

“We are being watched.  Brooks and
the others are keeping eyes on them,” Sean announced. “They must have found us,
or followed us… who the hell knows how.”

“Drones,” Howard answered, not
being asked.

Gunner chuckled and looked at
Howard patronizingly. “Doc, if they had drones, they would have parked a Hellfire
up our asses hours ago.”

“No, I assure you they have drones;
they are limited, and not many left, but I promise you they have them. If they
called in the recovery teams, it would make sense they would have a drone
watching. I’ve seen the imagery. What they are short of is munitions.
Most of it was expended weeks ago, but as long as there is fuel and spare parts,
they can keep the drones in the air. They’ve probably seen everything since the
bird went down.”

Gunner put his hand up, silencing
Howard. “Chief, what did you see?”

“We spotted one, but if there is
one, there will certainly be two. He’s in the rubble of a home across the
street. And before you ask, it’s not a Primal, and he’s definitely not a random
survivor. He’s dug in and packing good equipment, but he’s no pro. He used an
IR flashlight. It gave away his position and lit up his hide. He only did it
for a second and must have been aware of the error because he hasn’t done it
again since.

“He knows we’re in the school, but
I don’t think he’s aware that we’re onto him. If he did, he would have improved
his position, but this guy is staying put. Recon element I figure, scouting for
a larger team holding back someplace, waiting for the opportunity to move on
us. My guess is they will babysit us through the night then hit at dawn while
the Primals sleep. That’s what I would do.”

“Suggestions?” Gunner asked.

“Hoping the drone was pulled
off its surveillance,” Sean said skeptically looking at Howard, “I’d like to go
out there and snatch his ass, then cut on him until he tells me everything
about his unit and what they have planned for us. But the fucker picked his
position well, he’s sitting tight on the cross streets. If we move on him, he
would see us crossing the danger areas. If I took the stealthy route, it would
be daylight before I reached him. Plan B, I’ll go up to the roof and put a
suppressed round through his skull. Wait for someone to check on him, and kill
that one—mix, stir, and repeat.”

“Won’t that force their hand?”
Gunner asked. “They’ll know we’re on to them when their scouts don’t check in—“

“I’m putting my money on them
rolling in hard once they realize we’re on to them, but by then… you’ll all be
far away from here.”

CHAPTER 30

“Chief, you can’t expect them to go
cross country in the dark and on foot,” Brooks whispered.

The trio had gathered in a far
corner of the gymnasium.  Brad watched as Chelsea and the others repacked their
gear and prepared to move out. There was a lot of fuss about the girl. Parker
used a k-bar and a roll of duct tape to cut down his rain parka so that it
would fit her. She was giggling as he tried to get it over her head. Rain
pounded the metal roof over their heads; it would help them to evade the
Primals. One thing they learned was that Primals shared the irrational fear of
water with the symptoms of rabies. It wasn’t a fool-proof theory, but they were
less likely to show themselves in rain.

“They only need to go a few miles;
then you can hold up someplace or secure another vehicle,” Sean answered.

“You? Oh hell no, I’m staying
here,” Brooks said.

“Sorry Brooks, if they have any
chance of making it, they’re going to need you; but don’t worry bro—I’ll have
the good sergeant here with me,” Sean said, winking at Brad.

“Bullshit, Chief!” Brooks
protested. “Brad needs to go with the group.  I’d do better back here with you,
and you’re going to need me on the rifle beside you.”

Brad cleared his throat. “Do I get
a say in all of this?”

Sean paused and looked Brad up and
down. “Sure… what would you prefer: stay here with me, or have me stay back
here with you?”

Brooks shook his head and grabbed
Brad by both shoulders and looked him in the eye. “Trust me; this is the last
place you will want to be when they move up that road. Chief plans to run a
delaying action with one rifle. That’s no way to fight. Let me stay behind and
do this and you stick with the group, help get them to Savannah. They have
Gunner and Meyers and the grunts; they don’t need me.”

Brad dropped his eyes. He looked at
the corner of the room where Chelsea was doting over the little girl, while the
soldier hovered over them. He looked back at Brooks and forced a smile. “No,
Chief’s right. They need you.”

“Brad, he isn’t going to tell you
this is a suicide mission… but I will!”

Sean put his hands up. “We’ll make
contact with their rear element. Put some fire on them, slow their roll, and
bug out. I don’t plan on dying here, Brooks.”

“What if they bring in more helicopters?”
Brooks countered.

“I think they are used up… if they
had more birds, we’d have been hit again. I’m guessing they’re low on
resources. That Little Bird we took out was flying solo, without an escort. Why
would they go like that without a wingman?  I think they’re spent, no wingman
because they didn’t have one. If Howard is right, and the CNRT is based in
Colorado, this is a long way from home. I’m betting my life on them only having
a small ground element out there. Something small enough that they won’t risk a
night attack in Primal country.”

Sean paused and looked across the
room.  Gunner was suited up, standing by the door and the others were gathering
behind him. Gunner looked back at Sean and tapped his wrist. Sean turned to
Brooks. “Get them out of here. I’m tired and I don’t want to argue about this.”

“Very well, Chief, I’ll get them
settled and circle back for you,” Brooks said, abruptly walking away before he
could be told no.

Brad followed him; he wanted to say
goodbye to Chelsea and the others. None of them were happy to hear he was
staying behind. Parker and Joey eagerly volunteered to stay as well, or take
his place. Chelsea was quiet.  He knew he once again disappointed her; she
would never understand why he seminally always chose the Chief over her. He had
to explain the importance of getting the girl to safety. He promised them he
would catch up after daybreak. Chelsea stared at him while he spoke. He knew
that she wanted more of an answer or a private conversation. Brad was thankful
that there wasn’t time for long goodbyes.  He needed to get his head in the
game, and thinking about her would only be a distraction.

He walked with them to the rear
entrance where they stacked up on the door, waiting for Sean’s command before
they moved out. In the dark of the hallway, he hugged Chelsea goodbye and shook
the hands of his men before walking to a boiler room, where he met Sean by a
roof access ladder. Sean was waiting in the entrance of the door. “How are your
comms?”

Brad plugged in the ear piece of the
device and powered it on. Sean gave him a quick squelch of the mic and Brad
responded with a double click.

“Okay, good. Take the spotting
scope and set up back from the window behind the reception counter. I’ll be
focused on the shooter out there so I need you to keep an eye on my flanks.”

Brad nodded and took the scope in
his hands. He powered it on and scanned down the hall; the green and black
speckled image came back grainy in the interior space. He heard Sean beginning
to clank up the ladder and felt the rain on his shoulders when the hatch above
swung open. He turned the scope off and walked across the hallway into the office.
He moved to the end of a long counter and crept around it. He got to his hands
and knees so he was below the window, then crawled to the back of the room
where a row of flattop desks sat. He found one covered with family photos and
fake plants.

He ducked in behind the desk and
slid the chair out of the way. The scope had a small set of adjustable tripod
legs that Brad deployed. He positioned the scope on the desk so that he was
looking between the sets of potted plants. Brad checked his rifle and laid it
flat on the floor in front of his knees. He reached up and powered up the scope;
the soft green glow lit the cup of the eye piece. He pushed his eye against it
and began to scan.

“I’m up, but I don’t see anything,”
he spoke into the mic.

“Start at the left corner; count
off four structures.”

Brad did as instructed and then
scanned the structure. A small ranch house, or what was left of some of the
framed walls, was still standing but stripped of its sheathing. The roof had
fallen to the side and was lying in a mass of rubble.

“The stone chimney—target is to
the left of it.”

Brad found the chimney and carefully
turned the scope to the left, then dialed up the resolution. The man was hidden
well but wasn’t on the rifle like Brad expected. Instead, he was sitting back
against the chimney wearing a parka, the hood pulled over his head. He was
drinking from a thermos and looking down, rarely looking in the direction of
the school.

“I see him,” Brad said.

“Good, start scanning.”

Brad continued passing to the right,
letting the scope hang on anything that could provide concealment. He moved
beyond the structure and off to the next. Another destroyed home. As the scope
smoothly moved to the left; he thought he saw a splash of motion. He paused and
dialed out the resolution. There was a small aluminum garden shed still
standing. Brad looked to the left and right of it and spotted more movement,
then the silhouette of a man at the corner of the shed. He moved again and
disappeared.

“Second target, fifty meters to the
right, between the buildings.  See the garden shed.”

“I see the shed, no target.”

Brad watched the small building and
saw the man step back to the side, exposing himself for just a second before
dropping back. Then the man walked completely around and opened a door on the
shed before slipping inside.

“He’s inside the shed.”

“Roger, stay on him… firing…
target down.”

Brad watched the man walk back out
of the door and stand there looking in the direction of the school. His rifle
was slung and his hands were in his pockets. He looked left and right as if
he’d heard a sound, then turned and looked off into the distance away from the
school.

“I got him… firing… target
down.”

Before Brad could respond, he
watched the man take a direct hit to the high center of his back. His body
jerked forward, then collapsed. Brad scanned back to the stone chimney and saw
the first man slumped forward. “Confirmed two targets down.”

“Get them out the door.”

Brad flipped off the scope, scooped
up his rifle, and crawled to the door. Even though he knew the scouts were
down, he didn’t want to take any chances. He reached the hallway and ran down
it at a jog. He passed the tail of the group leaning against the hallway walls,
and ran to the door where Gunner and Brooks were standing.

“Both are scouts are down. Sean’s
up top.”

Brooks nodded. He reached down, put
on his pack, and rolled out the door. Gunner stayed in position, pushing the
others out behind him in a close line formation. Brad watched as each of them
filed past, not being able to see their faces in the dark of the hallway. The
last of them filed by and then Gunner leaned over to Brad. “Good luck, son. Don’t
stay longer than you have to. Get your ass to Savannah; we’ll be waiting for
you there.” He slapped Brad hard on the shoulder then rolled out after the
others.

Brad pulled his night vision over
his eyes, stepped into the doorway, and crouched down. He watched the team
moving away—three in the front, then the soldier carrying the girl, Chelsea and
two more bringing up the rear. A bright flash of tightening washed out his
night vision. He powered them off and lifted them off his head. Brad blinked
hard, readjusting to the darkness. Looking left and right, he backed into the
doorway.

“Grab your shit; time to find
some new real estate.”

CHAPTER 31

He carried her close to his chest.
The SKS slung over his shoulder and the ammo-replenished M4 strapped to the top
of his back. The other men had offered to help carry the girl, but when Shane
refused they finally convinced him to let them carry his gear. His ruck was now
nearly empty, only some blankets and a day’s rations left in it. He felt
refreshed moving with this new group, some of the responsibility having been
removed from his shoulders.

It was dark. The rain poured down
and gusts of wind blew his hood back from his head. Ella curled tight against
his chest causing him to perspire. Even though it made him uncomfortable, he
knew it would keep the girl warm. The group had given him fresh batteries for his
PVS-7, but with the rain and lightning, he chose to trust his natural eyesight
and not rely on the night vision device. They moved quickly, sometimes at a
near run, through alleys and over backyard fences. At one point, they paused
and Shane heard several suppressed gun shots, then they were back up at a near
run.

The pace continued for what seemed
like hours. When they finally stopped under the overhang of a tall building,
Shane checked the iridium dial on his watch and saw they’d been on the trail
for forty minutes. A bit after midnight, it was prime feeding hour for the
infected, or Primals as the group called them. This unit was smart; they
had experience moving among them. Shane spent the majority of the outbreak
behind the walls of Fort Collins. Rarely did he move outside the wire after the
early days of the outbreak, especially at night. He found from listening to
their stories that these men were well traveled and experienced in this new
form of warfare.

The signal was given to move out
again. After traveling two blocks, they were met with ankle deep water that
gradually rose.  Months without maintenance, the gutters and street drains were
becoming clogged with refuse. Rainwater filled the streets and with no place to
go, it backed up into yards and low lying areas. They crossed diagonally
through a vacant lot littered with floating garbage. A man held down a strand
of a wire fence so the rest could climb over it, and then they climbed a steep
embankment that topped out at a set of railroad tracks. When everyone was back
online, they knelt down and used the high ground to get their bearings.

Lightening streaked across the sky,
reflecting light off the sheets of water. The flooding made everything look as
if it was encased in ice. The thought sent chills through Shane’s body; the
wind whipped and blew cold rain against his neck that slowly worked its way
into every crevice of his person. His legs were already soaked to the bone. His
arms throbbed from holding Ella; even though she barely weighed fifty pounds,
the awkwardness was starting to drain the blood from his limbs. He relaxed his
grip and let her rest on his knee as the men ahead of him worked out their next
move.

Chelsea moved up beside him. He
felt her touch and she whispered in his ear, asking if it was okay if she
checked on the girl. Shane adjusted his grip and allowed Ella to sit up on his
knee. Chelsea pulled back the girl’s hood and touched a hand to her forehead. She
whispered to her, and offered her a bottle of water to sip from. Ella held the
bottle in her fingers and sipped thirstily before passing it back. She pushed
into him and he grimaced feeling the back injury begin to tighten up.

Chelsea saw his expression and the
look of pain. “I can take her for a while,” she whispered.

Shane looked at her and shook his
head slowly. “I got her.”

Chelsea stood, moving back to her
position.  Shane gently touched her wrist. “Thank you,” he whispered.

The word was passed to move out. Shane
adjusted his grip on Ella so that she was higher on his shoulder and taking the
weight off his arms. He climbed to his feet and followed the man in front of
him. The ground was uneven on the railroad tracks. Without maintenance, the
ties had lifted out of the ground and become trip hazards. He could hear the
men in front of him step and slip on the limestone boulders that filled the
rail space.

Sounds of moaning and Primals on
the hunt began to fill the air. Subtle at first, but as they moved, the sounds
increased and mixed with the noise of splashing water. The winds continued to
pick up, and soon the rain was nearly vertical. Something was happening; Shane
didn’t know what, he couldn’t see far ahead in the blowing rain, but could feel
it. Brooks increased the pace. Shane was nearly at a jog when the soldier in
front of him tripped on an uneven railroad tie. Shane stopped and went to help
him up but Chelsea was there pulling the soldier from the ground before he
could assist.

Gunfire erupted from the front; he
could hear the clacking of the suppressed weapons as the muzzle flashes mixed
with the lightening. Shane stopped and prepared to turn back. Gunner ran down
the line speaking to them in a loud voice. “We just hit a mob head on; stay as
quiet as possible, no loud rounds! We have to fight through it, don’t let up.”
Gunner slapped him on the back and moved to the next man down the line.

Shane began to panic. He turned and
saw Chelsea move in close beside him. “My rifle isn’t suppressed,” she said
through the noise of the raging infected.

Shane stood close to her. He pulled
Ella from his shoulder and kissed her on the cheek. “Ella, I’m right beside you.
Miss Chelsea is going to carry you now,” Shane said to her.

Ella nodded and Shane handed her to
Chelsea. He removed the M4 from his back and attached the bayonet. He stepped
in front of them and prepared to step off. Parker and Joey, who’d been near the
back, came ahead with their tomahawks in hand. They saw what Shane did and took
flanking positions on Chelsea and Ella. Shane looked at them and dipped his
head. “Nobody touches her!” Shane said.

“Roger that, Sergeant; they gotta
come through me first!” Joey replied.

Gunner stayed in the back, holding
the six position. “Let’s go heroes, we ain’t got all night.”

Shane started off at a jog in the
direction of the muzzle flashes. He nearly tripped when his toe caught a
mangled body, then side stepped and leapt over a Primal with a shattered head. More
bodies stacked up; the muzzle flashes were just ahead. He heard a moan and
thrashing of grass. Shane pivoted, spotting one on all fours scrambling up the
embankment. To his left, Joey lifted a leg and stomped down with the heel of
his boot. Two more came out of the shadows between him and the muzzle flashes. Shane
put his weight on his rear foot, shuffle-stepped forward, and plunged the
bayonet through the first creature’s head. He then stepped to the side while twisting
out the bayonet and bashing the next in the head with the butt stock.

He paused only long enough to make
sure Chelsea was still behind him. He picked up the pace to close the gap with
the muzzle flashes. He heard the thwack of Parker’s hawk impact the body
of a creature. Another crawled up the embankment at an angle; not slowing,
Shane veered to the side and soccer kicked it under the jaw, flipping it
backwards and down the slope.  Ahead, he saw Brooks and Meyers standing side by
side. They were canted at opposite forty five degree angles. He couldn’t tell
why until he was right on top of them; they were pressed up against a stalled
railroad freight car, covering the left and right corners. Brooks heard the
group approach and pointed to a ladder on the side of the car without taking
his eyes from the field of fire.

Shane ran to the car. He turned
back, grabbing Ella from Chelsea, then climbed the rungs, spilling onto the top
of the train car. He sat Ella on the center of the roof, then looked back and
grabbed Chelsea by the wrist and dragged her to the top. He pulled her over the
lip of the car and pointed her to Ella, before reaching down and grabbing the
next soldier on the ladder. Straining, he pulled Joey nearly all the way up before
he grabbed the top edge. Joey rolled over the lip and pushed Shane forward to
make room. Shane struggled to his feet and found the roof of the train car
slick in the downpour. Dropping back to his knees, he crawled forward to the
far end of the car and held his position, waiting for Chelsea and Ella to move
up behind him.

Chelsea moved slowly, guiding the
girl ahead of her then stopped when she was less than five feet away. Chelsea
had her rifle up and was looking off to the side of the car, searching the
terrain below. Others climbed the ladder and crowded on the roof of the
railroad car. Shane could hear Howard complaining and arguing with Gunner who
was threatening to slap the shit out of him if he didn’t keep his voice down.
Brooks was on his feet and walked down the center of the car. Stepping over the
others, he moved up to where Shane was sitting. He turned looking in all
directions, and then crouched down next to Shane.

Brooks looked left and right, and
then lifted his night vision off his head before dropping it into an assault
pack. Meyers moved up the edge of the freight car, inches from spilling onto
the railroad bed below. He pushed around Chelsea and Ella and dropped to his
rear, sitting with his legs dangling over the edge. He spit over the side then
pulled his own goggles off. Shane looked over the edge; it was high, at least
fourteen feet off the ground below. When the lightning flashed, it reflected
back the cold stares of the Primals below. Shane looked away, unable to handle
their gaze.

“That all turned to rat shit!” Meyers
cursed under his breath.

Myer dropped his pack and placed it
in his lap. He dug for a small canvas satchel and removed a small leather case.
He fidgeted with it in the dark. “What is your estimate on sunrise today,
Mister Brooks?”

Brooks looked at Meyers confused,
he glanced at his watch. “With the overcast and cloud cover; maybe oh-seven-thirty?”

“Very well,” Meyers responded
pulling the satellite phone and GPS from the leather pouch.

“What are you doing?” Brooks
asked.

“Trying the mobile; ordering
take-away from the greasy spoon. How do you like your eggs, mate? I prefer mine
with a side of cruise missile.”

CHAPTER 32

He felt the weight of the pack
cutting into his shoulders as he took long steps, running against the wind and
rain. Brad struggled to keep up with Sean who was sprinting ahead as if he
already knew where he was going. They cut across the school’s front lawn and pushed
through a break in the chain-link fence. Sean was leading them to the storefront
positioned on a far street across from the unkempt playground.

They ran, weaving through swings
and playground equipment. Brad was worried that while he was running, he
couldn’t see to defend himself at the same time. They were being stupid, taking
risks; it wasn’t their way. Sean continued the fast pace then quickly stopped
to a halt behind a large oak tree near a sidewalk that skirted the street. He
crouched and dropped his goggles over his eyes. Brad came up behind him,
slowing to a walk and trying to control his heavy breathing as he dropped to a
knee behind his partner.

Sean was scanning the small storefronts
across the street. Without speaking, he tapped Brad’s elbow and pointed to a
small building almost directly across from them. It looked like an insurance
office. It had one narrow glass door to the left and a wide tall window to the
right. Brad nodded and again they were on their feet running. They crossed the
street and moved to the building’s front wall. Sean slid across the surface and
tested the door; it moved in his hand and swung out easily. Brad quickly
dropped his night vision into place. Sean looked back at Brad, held up three
fingers, and ticked them down. On the last finger, he moved to the other side
of the door and pulled it out.

The door jangled from a large set
of chimes hanging from a hook set in the ceiling above it. Sean ignored the
noise and swept into the room with Brad close behind him. Sean reached back and
latched the door. Instantly, they were hit in the face with the stench of Primals.
They froze, listening intently, while the chimes still bumped into each other
causing what seemed like a decibel-bursting ting, ting, ting. Sean
reached up a hand without looking back and grabbed the set of bells. Yanking
down, he ripped them from the ceiling and tossed them to a corner in another
loud clatter of bangs as they slapped against the tile floor.

“Bit harsh wasn’t it?” Brad
whispered.

Sean held up a hand in response. A
slight rattle sounded from down the hallway in a back room. Sean sidestepped,
ducking behind a desk to his right. Brad did the same moving to his left. Brad
scanned the space; it was clean, a typical office with plants, calendars
hanging from the walls, and a water cooler in the corner. Looking down the
narrow, litter-covered hallway, he could see a number of office openings to the
left and right as the hall led straight to the back of the building and ended
at a heavy, windowless door.

Sean reached forward on his weapon
and powered up the IR laser, then looked at Brad and flashed a thumbs up. Brad
nodded his head and returned a one finger salute. Sean returned the nod and
grabbed a coffee cup resting next to him. He lifted it with his right hand and
fired it down the hallway before he crashed against and knocked over a file
cabinet, causing a loud slam of metal and porcelain. In an immediate response,
a Primal jumped from a space in the back and leapt into the hallway. Sean lined
up the laser and a spit of the MP5 knocked the Primal over and to the ground. Two
more barreled out behind it and Sean fired, hitting the lead in the shoulder and
the second in the throat, yet they both continued on. Brad waited for Sean to
fire again. He looked to the right; the MP5 was jammed.  Sean had already let
it hang from its sling and was drawing his sidearm. Brad squeezed the trigger,
his own suppressed round cutting down the hallway. His fire not accurate, he
let loose a barrage of rounds that tore through the chest of the leader and
continuing to the tail runner. Sean’s side arm was up. He level out and after a
loud pop, pop, pop; the creatures lay on the floor bleeding and dying.

“Damn, Chief. You ever clean that
thing?” Brad asked, referring to the MP5’s malfunction.

“It’s that shitty ammo we picked up,”
Sean retorted.

“Sure, buddy. I’ll check out the rest
of the office while you clean your weapon,” Brad said, getting to his feet. He
stepped lightly to the hallway; the view in front of him played out in a
speckled green and black of the night vision. He kept his barrel forward in the
direction he was walking to compensate for the lack of depth perception. He
moved to the first office door which was already unlatched.  He pushed the door
and let it swing in. The room held a small table surrounded by chairs. The room
directly across had an identical setup.

Brad continued down the hall. Approaching
the first of the dead Primals, he probed the body with his barrel, then stepped
on the base of its skull to be certain before moving past it. Another was on
the ground in a twisted pose. It was an elderly woman in a pantsuit, her
sleeves torn and bloodied. Brad started at it and watched as its back vibrated
with a rattled breath. A swift blow from the spike of his tomahawk stilled it. Protruding
from the entrance to the last room was the one Sean had taken down first. Its
head was pockmarked with impact holes and the back of its skull missing where
the hollow points ripped out of the back.

He carefully stepped over the
destroyed Primal body and stood in the doorframe of the last room—a small break
area. He could tell by the heavy stench of human waste that this was where the Primals
nested. Set up as a lunch area, smashed coffee pots, an overturned
refrigerator, and broken tables covered the floor space. He scanned from left
to right without entering the space, then backed away after finding nothing. Turning
to the right, he faced the tail of the long hallway where an empty restroom
closed out the building. The back door was slightly ajar, the cool moist air
still blowing in. Brad kicked bits of leaves and refuse out of the way and
attempted to press the door shut. It wouldn’t latch; the months of being open
and exposed to the elements caused the doorframe to swell. Brad removed a fire
extinguisher from the wall and placed it next to the door to hold it shut.

When he returned to the front of
the room, he saw Sean had built a mini bunker. He had dragged furniture away
from the center of the room and positioned it against the walls, then moved two
long book cases and positioned them below the windows. He had his rifle up and
on the bipod. Sean’s rucksack was on the floor; he was leaning over it,
removing gear and tossing it into a corner.

“What’s up?” Brad asked.

“You’re going to want to lighten
your load. When we move, it will be at Mach 3 and you won’t want a heavy pack
slowing you down. Ammo and water, I wouldn’t hold onto much else,” Sean huffed.

“What about food?”

“You can’t eat it if you’re dead.
Set up on the window, get that scope back out, and see if you can get a fix on
that hide site. I figure they will know by now that their eyes have been shut. When
I finish, you can lighten up your pack.”

Brad nodded and moved to the window.
He removed his goggles and placed them into the top of his assault pack. He
pulled the spotting scope and rested it on top of the bookcase. He powered it
up, looked across the playground and back to the school. Panning to the left,
he was able to find the neighborhood of destroyed houses and after a short
search, he spotted the dead scout’s body resting against the stone fireplace.
He scanned farther to the right but the other ruins blocked his view of the
garden shed. He panned back, put the scope on the stone fireplace, and dialed
back the resolution so he could see a wider area.

The image went fuzzy; he pulled his
face away, closed his eyes tight and then opened them slowly to relieve the eye
strain. He looked through the window and nearly screamed when he saw the naked,
bloodied belly of a Primal directly in front of him. Brad froze, too terrified
to move; the creature was looking into the window. It leaned forward, tapping
its forehead against the glass. Its scarred and greasy scalp squeaked as it
squeegeed its head from left to right across the surface of the window.

Brad stood as still as a statue.
The creature backed away from the window pane and turned to the left before it
continued to stumble down the street. Brad leaned back off the scope as he
watched more move past. A large pack of thirteen or more filed down the
sidewalk, moving past the school and deeper into the neighborhood. Brad
continued to slide back away from the window as Sean looked over at him and
arched his eyebrow, acknowledging that he saw them too.

More and more filed past in an ever
growing procession of Primals. Women and men in all layers of dress—some in shoes,
other plodding along in torn, bare feet. Brad could hear their shoulders scrape
and bump against the door as they moved past. “Where are they all going?” Brad
whispered.

“Something pushed them this way,
we’ve never seen so many.”

“The storm maybe?” Brad asked.

Without warning, the sky suddenly
flashed full of light. Sean moved across the room, crouching low next to Brad. Suspended
below a parachute high in the sky, they saw a flare shining brightly. Soon
afterward, a red firework exploded high above the school and then another as
the first dimmed.

“Mystery solved,” Sean whispered.

The Primals arched their backs and
moaned before lurching forward as they gradually picked up speed. They wailed
and howled at the dropping ball of light. The once recognizable packs quickly
formed into a single massive raging mob as they raced toward the school.

“Drop your shit and cover that
window. It won’t be long now,” Sean said speaking plainly, no longer needing to
whisper above the screams emanating through the building’s walls.

Brad crawled across the floor,
allowing Sean to take his place behind the scope. He reached his pack and
quickly began dumping extra items from the main cargo compartment. With the bag
nearly empty, Brad found that the difference in the bag’s bulk and weight made moving
it along the back wall much easier. He moved to the window on the left wall, as
Sean instructed, and pushed in against the corner, gazing out at a forty-five
degree angle and trying to stay concealed from the raging Primals outside.

“You think the CNRT, or whoever the
hell they are, brought them in?”

Sean was on the wall a few feet
from him, his shoulder pressed against the book case and ducking so only the
top of his head and eyes were exposed to the window. “Still a few hours from
dawn. Using the Primals to soften up the school, then hit after daybreak to
pick up the pieces. Smart… hoping to force us into a fight… expend our ammo…
weaken our defenses. Might have worked too, but they fucked up.”

“Because the team got out?” Brad
gasped, feeling overwhelmed.

“No… because as soon as they show
their heads, I’ll start poking holes into them.”

CHAPTER 33

“Get some rest people.  The strike
is at dawn and we need to be moving before the smoke clears,” Meyers said as he
walked the train car from the front to the back. “We have two packages being
delivered. The captain didn’t part with his missiles lightly, so we need to
make this count, gents.

“These are dispenser variant Tomahawk
cruise missiles, the only two on the boat. She’ll be dropping over 300 BLU-97
sub-munitions, providing us a wide avenue to haul ass.”

“Cluster bombs?” someone asked.

“Exactly, mate.” Meyers continued
walking the railcar and stopping next to Shane. He dropped to his rear and let
his legs dangle over the sides of the railcar. He looked down at the Primals
below then at Shane. “Something I will never get used to,” Meyers whispered.

“I don’t know that we ever should. Get
used to them, I mean,” Shane answered.

“Aye, I’d put every last one of
them down if I could.”

Shane thought back to the night in
the tower and how the one stared at him. How it seemed to direct the others to
focus on his position. “Have you ever seen anything? I mean signs of
intelligence, like there is something more to them.”

Meyers shot Shane a cross
expression. “You’d be bloody barmy to believe that—look at them.”

Shane pushed himself up so that he
could see over the edge of the car and down at the railroad bed. The rain had let
up and the moon was just beginning to break through the dark, fast moving clouds.
Shane looked down the grassy slope to the streets packed with Primals; the
mottled heads and glowing eyes below stared back up at him. They moved slowly,
as if one big organism, in a twisting and swirling rotation. Not standing still
but in constant motion.

“There was a time that I thought
that but… I’ve seen things,” Shane whispered.

Meyers drained a small plastic
bottle of water, then tossed it over the side and watched it bounce off the
head of what was once a bald old man. The thing didn’t react to the impact,
didn’t look away, and didn’t flinch. “Would you consider that an intelligent
reaction?”

Shane shrugged. “Have you ever
watched them move?  Seen them hunt?  Not now in this mass, but when they are in
small packs. The way they communicate through their howls; the way they always seem
to have a dominate leader. Even now, look at the man with the red shirt at the
corner of the far building,” Shane said; his voice raising. He lifted a hand
and pointed to a small structure at the bottom of a slope.

All along the road, the creatures
pressed and swarmed, massing around the train car, pushing their way to get
closer as the weaker ones were pulled out of the way and pushed to the back.
Across the street a large male, hunched with its arms at its sides, stood alone
next to a building. He looked back at the train car, but differently than the
others; he was enraged but also appeared to be studying them.

“That’s your Grey Wolf right there,”
Shane whispered. “You might not think so, but he is in charge; he coordinates
the hunt.”

“Impossible.  It’s probably
injured, just sticking to the fringes,” Meyers replied.

“I’ve witnessed it myself. Watched
them change the tide of battle… watched them point out prey. I think something
is still ticking in some of them, some basic animalistic instinct to hunt.”

“Well, I’m not sold on the idea.” Meyers
stared at the man with the red shirt a bit longer. He lifted the SA80 that he
was cradling in his lap and aimed across the street. A single trigger pull and
the man’s head snapped back, its brains coating the wall behind it. “No reason
to take any chances though.”

Shane nodded and looked back to
check on Ella.  Far in the distance, he saw a glowing light floating high in
the sky. “Meyers,” Shane whispered, reaching out a hand to tap the man on the
shoulder just as a pop echoing sound of a starburst flare found its way
to them.

Meyers focused his eyes on the
flare and the sparkling red lights. “Starburst grenades… it’s begun then. Damn,
we should have been farther away by now.”

Gunner moved to the front of the
car, kneeling with the others.  He pointed down the railroad tracks. “See those
concrete structures ahead? That should be US-17. If we can get there, it will
take us right into Savannah.”

“How far out?” Shane asked.

“On a normal day under 30 minutes
by car; today... let’s just get to the highway.”

The mass below became agitated as
some of them picked up on the distant fireworks. The horde broke up and began
to shift. Small groups on the edge of the mass separated into packs and took
off at a full run toward the floating lights. The sounds of battle joined the
chaos of the moans echoing off the buildings. Thumping sounds of a light machine
gun, a distant explosion, and bright flash of light lit the horizon accompanied
the steady pop, pop, pop of the illumination rounds.

Brooks sat upright and looked into
the distance with his binoculars before he glanced at Meyers. “How long till
the strike?”

“Short of twenty five minutes, just
waiting on the sun,” Meyers answered glancing at a countdown running on his
wristwatch.

“Can you move it up?” Brooks asked.
“If we don’t stop this migration to the school, Sean and Brad won’t have a
chance.”

“We all have our role, mate; it’s
not likely to be a bloody snap for us either. Our success is dependent upon a
daylight strike—”

A large explosion cracked in the
distance.  A bloom of smoke climbed into the sky and an orange glow lit the
horizon. The rate of small arms fire increased while another boom echoed
against the building walls. The Primals started to move away from the train
car, suddenly more interested in the stimulation of sounds coming from the
battle.

Brooks stood upright. “We all have
our role,” he muttered. Brooks turned around and took a deep breath. “Fuck
that, get on the horn and get those Tommys in the air now. The sun won’t make
much of a difference if Chief’s position is overrun.”

Gunner looked at Meyers. “Get them
in the air.”

“Okay, mate, I’ll make the call. But
have these people ready to move.”

***

Shane’s head was buried atop the
train car, the heels of his boots facing the direction of the blast zone. Ella
was beneath his chest, Chelsea just beside them. He lifted his head and looked
to the east; the flares over the school had stopped, but the sounds of battle
still raged. The mass of Primals had thinned out some but were still heavily
congested around the train car. Shane’s eyes swept the eastern horizon—he could
just begin to make out the first rays of daybreak.

“They’re on the way, keep your
heads down,” Meyers yelled, clicking off the sat phone. “First salvo will be
just off the car, dispensing bomblets from east to west; the second will be
right behind it. They’re moving at eight hundred kilometers per hour, so it
won’t be long.”

Shane curled his head down and
pulled Ella in tight. He felt her squirm beneath him. He heard the blast of the
missile’s engine milliseconds before the detonation of the sub-munitions. Deafening
explosions shook the car, causing it to rattle on the track; it vibrated with
impacts from shrapnel and upturned earth. Shane curled to his side, pulling
Ella in even tighter. The second missile screamed overhead and the roar of
explosions continued, seeming to steal the air from his lungs. The car seemed
to levitate and Shane swore it was tipping, the motion taking away his sense. The
explosive ripping of the air suddenly stopped. He rolled to his back and
attempted to sit.

Shane looked in all directions. His
vision was choked with smoke and falling debris. Meyers was already at the
ladder firing into Primal bodies lying on the ground and others that were trying
to get up. Shane leaned forward, righting himself, and pulled Ella to his lap. She
was sobbing, her hands gripping his shirt so tight, he could feel the pinching.
He used the pack as balance to climb to his feet. Chelsea was next to him.  She
took the girl and tried to comfort her as Shane grabbed his bag with the SKS
tied to the top and tossed it over the side of the car. He grabbed the M4 and
clipped it to his harness, then took Ella. She was still sobbing uncontrollably
and he wanted to comfort her, but there was no time. He moved to the ladder and
crowded behind the other soldiers scrambling to the ground.

Brooks reached out and took Shane
by the back of the pack, helping to steady him as his feet found the rungs of
the ladder. He slid to the ground quickly, only catching every other rung as he
dropped. Gunfire was on all sides as the men moved west, firing into any body
that moved. He caught his bearings and aligned himself into the formation of
soldiers while Ella clung tightly to his shoulder. A wall of Primals was rising
at them from their flank. Shane spun and let loose several shots. Some dropped,
others broke though; a skinny man dove at him and Shane narrowly dodged it, deflecting
the man with the stock of his rifle. The Primal’s body hit the iron railroad
track and thudded to a stop a moment before Chelsea fired her rifle into it.

“Move,” she screamed at Shane,
pushing him forward.

Shane nodded and rushed ahead. He
saw Doctor Howard in the middle of the group chasing after Meyers with a small
pistol in his hand. A Primal lunged at Shane, who juked and jumped out of the
way, barely avoiding the Primal’s attack. The crazy changed course and tackled
Parker from behind. Parker hit the ground hard; he rolled and wrestled with the
beast, nearly sliding down the embankment. Joey jumped in and the Primal turned
its attention toward him; clawing, scratching, and knocking the Marine to the
ground. Joey was pushing the thing away while stabbing it in the ribs with his
K-bar. Gunner was quickly at his side and shot the creature with his sidearm. He
kicked it away, then yanked Joey to his feet as another broke through the cloud
of dust. Nearly flying, it caught Gunner across the body, tearing a long strip
of flesh from his face. Gunner fell to the side, rolling on the tracks. He
popped to his hip and pushed his pistol under the thing’s chest, firing wildly.

Parker was on the ground,
unconscious, with a large gash across his neck, blood pooling around his
shoulders. Chelsea was quickly by his side and reached down to help.

“Leave him! He’s done. Get the girl
out of here,” Gunner ordered before climbing to a knee then firing more shots,
knocking down a screaming woman. Cussing and screaming, Gunner swapped out magazines.
“Go, go,” he yelled, pushing the others ahead of him. He removed a bandage from
his belt and lashed it to his face with his left hand while still firing at the
charging beasts with his right.

A large mob charged the flank.
Shane turned into the screaming beasts, raised his M4, and fired. Gunner moved
up beside and again unloaded his pistol. He tucked the sidearm into his belt
and grabbed the SKS from the back of Shane’s pack. He leveled the heavy rifle
and fired, point-blank, into another cluster, knocking them off their feet with
hits to the chest. “You have a reload for this piece of shit?” he yelled as he
covered their position.

Shane paused to look at Gunner. He
could see the field bandage soaked with blood. Shane knew Gunner was finished,
he’d been infected, and from the look on Gunner’s face, he knew it too. Shane
reached into his cargo pocket and handed Gunner a stack of three magazines. The
old soldier accepted and tucked them into the straps on his belt. “Now get the
fuck out of here! Get the girl to the highway, I’ll catch up.”

Joey turned to the tail of the
group. Brooks and Meyers were ahead with Howard, clearing the way with
suppressed weapons. “Come on, we have to move! What are you waiting for?”

Shane looked at Gunner; Joey saw
the blood running down his jaw and neck. Gunner raised his rifle and fired at
two more running directly down the tracks.

“Go, I’ll cover the rear. Keep
moving to the highway, don’t wait for me,” Gunner ordered.

Joey went to speak, but Gunner
turned and again fired into the darkness, walking backwards. He would fire to
the left and shift fire to the right, one to two round volleys, taking out
targets as fast as they became visible. Shane turned and, with Chelsea at his
side, they ran ahead to catch up with the others. Joey fell in on the right side,
looking into the darkness. As they approached the impact area of the cluster
bombs, the earth became churned and cratered. Observing noise discipline and now
relying on suppressed weapons, they saw less and less of the Primals as they traveled.

Shane didn’t want to look back. As
he ran, the sounds of the SKS became more and more distant. He knew that Gunner
wasn’t behind them, that he broke away and was running into the city while
drawing off the horde with the sounds of the 7.62 rifle. They heard the loud
crack of a frag grenade and saw a building ignited in flame. Shane dropped his
head, thinking Gunner was finished, when he heard more firing from the SKS. Brooks
stopped the group at a cross street near a turned over school bus. Just ahead
was a high embankment that led to the highway.

The sun slowly moved above the
horizon. The ground was blanketed in a heavy layer of mist and smoke that
helped conceal the team as they knelt beside the burnt remains of the bus.

“Up the hill and to the highway.  I’ll
go first to secure it and then the rest of you keep moving,” Brooks whispered.

Several blocks to the north of the
railroad bed, two shots of the SKS sounded off.

“We should wait for Gunner,”
Chelsea whispered.

Joey shook his head. “Gunner’s dead
and he knows it,” he said looking down to hide his emotions. “He saved me. I
watched the Primal take his face… right after one killed Parker.”

“But we can’t just leave him out
there!” Chelsea argued looking around the group at the solemn faces of the
team.

Joey forced a smile as the SKS
fired another salvo. “He’s right where he wants to be. Let’s go, Pops will be
pissed if he sees us standing around.”

CHAPTER 34

The Primal horde charged the school.
Enraged by the flares and starburst grenades, they rushed the fences and crashed
their bodies against them. All too soon, they were at the walls.  The chained
doors held, but they broke windows surrounding the perimeter. Brad watched as
he saw several collide with the glass office doors and pour inside the building
where he’d previously stood.

Brad pressed his back against the wall
and raised his scoped rifle to the window. He scanned the area of the stone
chimney and spotted a row of four blacked-out SUVs parked online behind the
ruins of the home.

“There’s a—”

“I see them,” Sean said. “Figuring
to let the Primals do their dirty work, huh? Yeah… let them wipe us all out and
then withdraw in the afternoon sun without firing a shot.”

Brad watched the SUVs. A man clad
in black stood between two of them, shielded from the charging Primals. The man
raised an older style M79 thumper into the air and launched another flare. He
cleared the round and loaded another before he moved beside the SUV and
prepared to fire again.

“They know we killed their scouts;
won’t they guess we moved?” Brad asked.

The man raised the M79 and fired a
red starburst round that exploded high above the school, streaking streams of
red back to the ground.

“Probably; that’s why I’m going to
put a round through our little fireworks coordinator over there. Don’t return fire
unless they pinpoint our location.”

“Wait, but won’t that—”

“Firing,” Sean whispered as he
pulled the trigger. The first suppressed round exploded the glass of the
insurance office.

Brad watched as the man aimed the
M79 at a point high above the school, then stepped back as Sean’s high caliber round
impacted his chest. His arms dropped and he fired the round, point-blank, into
the ground. A bright flash illuminated as the parachute flare exploded at his
feet between the SUVs. The man rolled to the side and went to stand.

“Fucker’s wearing a plate,” Sean
whispered. “Firing,” he said again.

Brad watched as the man’s head
snapped back and his torso rotated and smacked into the SUV next to him. A rear
door opened and another man ran forward, kicking the bright burning flare into
the street. It was too late; the Primals had taken notice and were moving in
the SUVs’ direction. The man turned and ran for the SUV door when Sean fired
again, low this time, taking out the man’s unarmored leg. He fell just feet in
front of the SUV and crawled forward. Another man left the passenger side and
ran to the injured man’s aid. He grabbed the back of his shirt and dragged him
to the vehicle. Just as Brad thought he might make it, Sean fired again,
hitting the assisting man low in the torso. The assisting man staggered to the
left and bent over at the waist. Dropping to the ground, the assisting man fell
on top of the first wounded man just as the horde hit the SUVs.

The SUVs’ doors slammed shut,
locking the wounded men out. The vehicles slowly backed up away from the horde
that was now swarming the downed men. “I’m going to try and disable a vehicle,”
Sean whispered.

Brad watched the blacked-out
vehicles slowly reverse, staying in line.

“Aiming for the engine block, fir—”

The window above Brad’s head
exploded. A round smacked through the drywall above Sean’s head. Sean pulled
back from the window and rolled across the floor. Brad ducked and dropped below
the bookshelf as more rounds exploded into the room.

“Well shit, son! Looks like they
have a sniper on their side too. If not for that plate glass, that round
would’ve been in my head.”

“No shit, Sean!” Brad yelled.

Rounds snapped over his head and
exploded into the walls around him as the men outside opened up with a light
machine gun. Brad pressed his face against the dirty tile floor, pushing his
body away from the assault, desperately searching for cover. The interior space
thundered with the sounds of return fire. He rolled to his side and saw Sean
with his weapon at the ready. His shoulder was pressed against the wall; not
bothering to look, Sean lifted the MP5’s barrel over the edge of the shattered
window and let loose an extended burst of suppressing fire.

When the magazine was empty, he
pulled the weapon back to his chest just as a barrage of counter fire again
ripped through the room. “You’ve got to move and you got to move now!” Sean
yelled over the intense fire.

Brad looked at him and struggled to
nod, fear and adrenaline causing his muscles to tighten. Sean pointed a gloved
finger toward the back of the room. “You need to move.  I’ll be right behind
you,” he said as he used his other hand to switch out magazines in the
submachine gun. “I’ll cover you. On my fire, go!”

Brad rolled back to his stomach and
readied himself for the dash. Before Sean’s first shot, he was blinded by a
bright flash and thundering explosion coming from the rear of the building.  A
cloud of smoke rolled up the hallway, pushing debris and a toxic ash that burnt
his lungs and caused him to choke. He heard Sean’s weapon fire. Brad willed
himself up and took a long step trying to steady himself. He stepped out fast;
surprised that he was able to stay in motion, taking step after step, he rushed
down the long hallway that was now quickly filling with smoke.

His ears were ringing, his senses
deprived by the thick cloud of dust and acrid gas. Brad took another lunging
step and hooked the toe of his boot on rubble. Already unsteady, he lost his
balance, fell hard to the floor, and slid headfirst into the hallway. He caught
himself with his left elbow, wincing in pain. He rolled to his right side and
pushed his rifle forward as he saw the first of them. Emerging out of the
smoke, they moved in; dark silhouettes standing out from the gray haze of the
smoke.  Two by two they came, wearing all black and protective masks, rifles at
the low ready. Their lasers cut the space, but they were looking over and
beyond him—not at his lifeless form prone in the rubble and blanketed in dense
smoke.

Brad twisted hard and leaned into
his rifle. He leveled it at the chest of the lead man and pulled the trigger. Three
rounds tore into the point man; dust and smoke popped from two hits to the
center of his tactical vest, the third striking the chin cup of the man’s
protective mask. Brad shifted the barrel to the left and with quick pulls of
the trigger took down another. The remainder of the opposing team fired blindly
through the haze in his direction.  Bits of sheetrock and shattered glass
pelted his face and exposed skin. Brad rolled hard and reached out. Grabbing
the edge of a nearby doorway, he pulled himself into a room that intersected
with the hall. Brad low-crawled forward, away from the doorway and deeper into
the room, ducking under a round conference table. While rounds were cutting the
walls and zipping over his head, he dragged himself to a sitting position
against a chair. He leveled his rifle and aimed into the open space of the door.

He watched as a barrel cautiously
broke the cover of the door frame. Brad raised his own rifle and aimed just to
the right of the barrel, firing rapidly through the wall where he knew the
shooter would be standing. He paused as a masked figure dropped forward, still
clutching the weapon. Brad launched himself back to his feet. He hugged the
door frame, then spun into the entrance, firing blindly as he flew across the
open space to the opposite wall. He saw another man fall victim to his fire. Brad
paused against the wall, holding the rifle to his eye and focused down the long
hallway toward the rear entrance. The firing behind him had ceased; he could
hear Sean reloading his rifle and the clinking of spent brass as he crawled
across the floor.

“You alive back there?” Sean
yelled.

Brad kept his chin on the stock of
the rifle and stayed focused on the far exit. “I’m still standing, if that’s
what you’re asking. I have four down back here.”

“Something’s got them pulling
back,” Sean said.

“That’s a good thing right?” Brad
acknowledged, relaxing his grip on the rifle while trying to control his
breathing and fighting the urge to vomit.

Sean moved up the hall and shoved
Brad’s assault pack into his arms. “Yeah… it would be great if it weren’t for
the hundred plus Primals pouring down the street in our direction,” Sean said.

A man lying face-down moved an arm and
went to lift himself up. Sean rushed ahead as he walked past Brad and turned
over the dying man. He was wearing a black utility uniform without name tape. A
subdued American flag patch was on his shoulder. Sean grabbed the sides of the
tactical vest and pulled off the Velcro to release it. He tore open the vest and
pushed it aside, then ripped the buttons on the man’s blouse.

Seeing a white cotton T-shirt, Sean
pulled at the collar to reveal a blood-spilling entry wound just below the
collar bone. Sean rolled up the man’s sleeves then looked him in the eye.

“Who are you with?” Sean asked.

The man coughed phlegm and blood,
foam coming from his nose; he smiled at Sean with red stained teeth. “You know
who we are.  We’re trying to save the girl before you and that hack doctor can
kill her.”

Sean looked up at Brad, trying to
hide the shock. “Bullshit, what are you doing here?”

The man continued coughing, his
face quickly becoming pale as blood spilt from the entry wound with every beat
of his heart. “We had her at Collins; the fort was over-run before we could
extract her by air, lost her after that, then picked up her signal again on the
road… we tried to get a bird in the air… she disappeared from the scanners before
we could triangulate.”

Brad leaned forward and put
pressure on the injured man’s wound, no longer able to ignore it. “Wait! If
you’re trying to help the girl, why did you attack her?”

The wounded man looked up at Brad,
his eyes growing faint. “You stupid bastard. We attacked you not the
girl, she is implanted with a low level tracking device. She needs to be
outside for us to get a signal from the UAV. We know she isn’t in the school;
she is south-west of here. We’ve been trying to stop Doctor Howard from getting
to her and we know he’s traveling with you.” The man coughed hard; turning to
the side and spitting blood, he struggled to take another wheezing breath in.
“We’d be with her now, could have followed her away, if you assholes didn’t
kill our recon team.”

The man coughed hard again and gagged
as he struggled to take another breath. He kicked his leg and choked before his
eyes rolled back in his head. Brad let go of the wound and looked down at his
blood soaked gloves. Sean reached in, turned the man to the side, removed his
wallet, and then got to his feet. He pulled open the wallet, dumping items as
he walked towards the exit.

“What the hell are we going to do?”
Brad asked as he struggled to keep up.

Sean tossed the wallet over his
shoulder and stood in the doorframe. “I don’t know; he wasn’t military. White
undershirt, no tags, no tattoos, no military ID. Who the hell are these guys?
And who the hell is Howard? Why the fuck is everyone lying to us?”

CHAPTER 35

Shane pulled himself up the highway
embankment while holding Ella tight in his left arm. His feet slipped in the
mud. He gripped long blades of uncut grass with his gloved right hand, pulling
himself up. He looked above and saw Howard standing over him with Brooks and
Meyers. Howard reached down as Shane pushed Ella up ahead. Howard took her hand
and pulled her up, freeing Shane’s left arm to climb the muddy slope. At the
top he turned back and pulled up Chelsea, then assisted the others.

Brooks and Meyers positioned
themselves on opposite ends, pointing up and down the highway respectively,
providing security and allowing the men to catch their breath before they moved
on. The rain had stopped with the daylight but heavy cloud cover still remained,
casting a gloomy gray over the terrain. Both directions of US-17 were congested
with broken and twisted vehicles; a fire had at one time raged up the highway,
destroying everything and leaving black molten hulks of vehicles. Shane walked
quietly and retrieved Ella from Howard who glared at him suspiciously.

He set his bag next to the shell of
an older model station wagon and put Ella on top of the pack. He poked a hole
in the top of a can of fruit and encouraged the girl to drink the juice. Ella
took the can and sipped while Shane used a rag to wipe the dirt and grime from
her face and cheeks. Chelsea moved in behind him and took a seat next to the
bag.  Leaning against it, she removed a bottle from her pack and took a long
drink of water. Chelsea lifted her hand and pulled the girl’s bangs from her
eyes. Ella smiled at her and took another sip from the fruit juice. Shane took
the can back, completely opened it, and then used an MRE spoon to feed her the
fruit cocktail.

“You’re good with her. Do you have
kids of your own?” Chelsea asked him.

Shane grinned as he gave Ella the
last of the fruit and set the can under the car. He wiped her face and put the
rag back in his shirt pocket. “I’d say she’s good with me. No, never been
married, never had any kids.”

“You don’t talk much do you, hun?”
Chelsea said as she stroked Ella’s hair.

“She will; when she has something
to say,” Shane said, winking at Ella.

Brooks gave the signal to move out.
Shane tucked their belongings back into the pack and got Ella to her feet. He
loosened the improvised parka’s front and allowed her to walk beside him. Chelsea
moved next to Shane, keeping Ella between them. The highway was quiet and void
of life as it rolled on straight ahead. According to Meyers’ map, they were
less than thirty miles from the base. It would be possible to cover thirty
miles in a day if they weren’t carrying the pack and escorting the girl. Even
then, that pace would make it impossible to stay alert and still able to fend
off attacks. Twenty miles was more likely but still would mean setting a
grueling pace.

Shane could tell by the way Brooks
set off that he had no plans of reaching the base in a single hike. He moved
slowly and methodically, keeping the team spread out. He walked point far ahead
and kept Joey staggered to the left behind him. Howard walked alone in the
middle while Meyers was some distance to the rear, ensuring they were not being
followed. They walked on the inside shoulder near the median where they would
have the greatest warning to oncoming threats.  The farther they traveled, the
less damage they saw to the vehicles; the fire hadn’t spread beyond the city limits.

Brooks put up a hand and motioned
them into the tall grass of the median and down to the ground. Shane held Ella
close and crouched behind the tires of a large cargo van. He tucked her in
beside him as he pulled up his rifle. He turned his head to the side and
watched under the vehicle as the pack of Primals passed by on the opposite side
of the road. A small group of five, they staggered ahead in a straight line
toward the city; probably attracted by the activity of the previous night.

Brooks waited for the Primals to
pass then quickly got the group back on their feet and moving again. Chelsea
moved closer to Shane and spoke just above a whisper. “How long has it been
since we heard Gunner’s rifle?”

Shane looked at her then down at
his watch. “Three hours… if he hasn’t turned yet, it’ll be soon.” Shane saw her
expression change and he immediately regretted his words. “I’m sorry. I didn’t
mean it like that. I know what he did for us, what you all have done,” he said
turning back to the road.

“Do you really think the Rangers
will be there after all this time?” Chelsea asked.

Shane looked ahead, pondering the
answer. “If not, then we’ll just find something else. Keep going till we find a
safe place.”

“It seems like that’s all there is
anymore: moving, finding places. I don’t think we will ever rest again.”  She
stopped and pointed ahead; Brooks had moved to the median and called the others
in. Howard was standing in the center of the group waiting for them, holding
his leather satchel. Shane and the others increased the pace as they walked to
meet up with Brooks. Joey stayed on the flanks, providing security.

Brooks pointed far ahead at a small
red vehicle on the shoulder. He signaled for them to join him. A small import
hatchback, two bucket seats in the front and a bench in the back. Brooks had
the rear hatch and a back door opened.

Meyers approached from the rear,
letting his SA80 hang limp in his right arm. “Ayup?” he asked.

“I found one that runs and it’s
small enough to get around the traffic jams to get you to Savannah,” Brooks
said walking around the car. He reached into the hatchback and removed two
suitcases, setting them on the ground to make room for the team’s packs.

“It’s too small, we won’t fit,”
Chelsea said.

“We’re not all going. I’m taking
Joey and going back to look for Sean and Brad,” Brooks said as Meyers walked
up.

“No… no way. We all stay together,”
Chelsea argued looking at the small car.

Brooks nodded at Meyers and said, “Don’t
worry, you’ll be in good hands and you all will make better time in the car.”

Shane walked to the vehicle,
looking down the highway. “Maybe we could hold off until we find something
larger.”

“Doesn’t matter, you could find a
tour bus, I won’t be continuing on. I’m going back for Chief,” Brooks said,
lifting Howard’s bag and dropping it into the back.

Howard walked around to the
driver’s door. “We need to continue on; the girl is what’s important. “

Meyers shrugged. “He’s right, lass;
load your gear, we should get going.”

“We can’t just leave! How will we
find you again?” Chelsea argued.

Shane walked to the hatch and
dropped in his pack. He removed the rifle and walked Ella to the back seat. “Come
on, they’ll meet us at Savannah. If not, once the girl is safe, I’ll help you
find them.”

Chelsea walked to Brooks and
grabbed the front of his shirt. “Make sure you bring them back!” He nodded a silent
response before taking her pack and loading it in the car. He escorted her
around to a passenger door and reached down to open it. Shane slid in on the
other side with Ella ahead of him and closed the door, waiting. Howard entered
the driver’s side and started the engine. Before Shane knew what happened, the
car was in gear and racing ahead.

“What the hell are you doing?”
Shane yelled.

Howard looked at Shane in the rearview
mirror. “It’s okay, I have it from here,” Howard said before reaching over the
back seat as the car whipped away. He aimed a small Browning pistol at Shane
and fired, hitting him in the chest. Shane bucked hard, slumping back in the
seat. Struggling to move, he fell against the door, and then toppled to the
bench as the car veered around obstacles. Shane sighed deeply, gasping for air.
Ella screamed. Shane tried to sit up, but couldn’t feel his body. He fought the
darkness closing in on him as he struggled for breath. He felt his warm blood
running down his side. Ella leaned over him pulling at his hair, her tears
falling on his cheeks; he knew she was calling his name but it sounded far away
and muffled.

Shane struggled to move, to speak. “Relax,
soldier, enjoy the time you have left,” Howard said, keeping his eyes on the
road as he drove down the shoulder of the highway.

“Damn, you all made it awful easy
for me. I thought we would have a harder time getting away from the CNRT. Hell,
when they captured Aziz I thought we were finished, but this girl… yeah, she’s
important to the cause. Well… not all of her, just her blood. But don’t you
worry, soldier, I know how important she is to you. Once I get my sample, I’ll
make sure you two stay together. I’ll find you a nice spot in a ditch to spend
eternity.”

Shane lay on his back staring at
the ceiling of the car struggling to keep his eyes open, barely comprehending
Howard’s words. Ella was leaning over him, screaming. He rolled his head to the
side, staring into the sun. He saw his team gathered around the Humvee; he
wanted to walk to them, to be finished with the pain. Ella’s cries clouded his
thoughts and brought him back. Shane forced everything to his right arm and let
it drift to his belt, his thumb glanced the .22 pistol in his belt clumsily. His
hand grasped the grip of the Walther pistol. He struggled to remove it but
didn’t have the strength. Ella grabbed his wrist and tugged, helping him remove
the weapon. Without straightening his arm, he aimed up at the back of the driver’s
seat. Ella guided and steadied his aim as he pumped the trigger.

CHAPTER 36

A loud explosion ripped through the
night air far to the south. Sean threw up a fist, halting Brad. They ducked
into the cover of an overhanging roof as they heard the sounds of small arms
fire.

“That’s got to be the team; let’s
go,” Sean whispered.

He stepped off quickly, crouching
low through the alleyways, the residential neighborhood quickly turning
commercial. The gunfire became random and the location scattered; the sounds
echoing off the buildings made them hard to track. Sean set course for the
sounds of the initial explosion. They veered into a warehouse district filled
with sheet metal buildings and concrete loading docks. The farther they moved,
the more the water began to rise. They slogged through until it hit their knees
then climbed to their waist.

Sean continued, pressing forward,
holding his rifle above his shoulders and pushing through the water down the
center of the street. The gunfire stopped and the sounds of the Primals' moans
faded. They rounded a corner and saw an elevated railroad bed. Sean pointed and
then moved quickly in that direction. The water almost reached their necks
before it began to recede near the embankment of the railroad tracks. The duo
climbed to the top and knelt down beside the rail.

Brad looked up and down the tracks
in both directions. Ahead, the ground was churned with twisted rails and
upturned railroad ties. Behind them was a lone rusted freight car. The
embankment area where they rested was covered with spent shell casings and Primal
bodies.

“They definitely came this way,”
Brad whispered.

Sean rolled his eyes. “Nice
tracking skills, Tonto.” Sean looked up and down the tracks picking up the
spent brass and rolling it in his fingers.

“Do you think the men in black will
be following?” Brad asked as they climbed back to their feet.

Sean looked behind him, scanning
both sides of the railroad embankment. “By air maybe, but the SUVs won’t make
it through that flood water. They’d have to cut all the way around to the
highway. Our guys would do the same. Okay, let’s go. Stay close to me.”

In a bend, they spotted a uniformed
body. The two men held up and looked at it from a distance, not wanting to approach.
Not speaking, they slowly stepped forward together. They spotted the M249
strapped across the soldier’s back and the M203 on the crushed limestone just in
front of him. Brad froze and took a step back. Sean moved forward and knelt
next to the man’s body. Carefully he removed the machine gun and leaned it
against the railroad track. Sean looked back at Brad who was standing quietly,
he shook his head slowly.

“It’s Parker, isn’t it?” Brad
mumbled.

Sean nodded. “’fraid so.”

Brad turned around, not looking at
the body. “Do we have time to bury him?” he asked.

“Not properly, but if we hurry, we
can at least wrap him in his bedding and cover the body with limestone.”

Brad took in a deep breath and
exhaled loudly. He turned and walked to the body, grabbed the man’s rucksack,
and removed a blanket. “I’ll carry the SAW if you take the 203,” Brad said,
lifting the M249 and leaning it against his own pack. He then reached in the
man’s shirt and removed his dog tags. Brad laid out the blanket so it was flat.
Not speaking, Sean helped Brad move the body to the center of the blanket where
they tightly wrapped it.

“Let’s get this done,” Brad said
grabbing handfuls of the loose stone from the railroad bed.

***

They traveled slowly now, staying
in cover, sinking into the high grass of the embankments when they sensed
movement. A small group of Primals sloshed through the water next to them as
Sean chose to hide rather than fight them. They encountered more small packs
scattered about the city that were not following their normal pattern of
disappearing during the day.

“The action last night seems to
have stirred them up… dragged them far from home,” Sean whispered, pointing to
a small cluster standing on a loading dock trapped by the flood waters. A tall
female stood by the steps leading to the loading dock, looking out. Her
clothing was soaked to the chest and the others gathered behind her, some
sitting, but most standing in the shade of an overhang.

“They look lost, like they got
turned around in the storm,” Brad observed.

“Let’s go,” Sean whispered getting
back to his feet, walking crouched while trying to hide his silhouette from the
stranded Primals.

As they approached the highway,
Sean picked up the pace. They saw less and less shell casings and Sean was
concerned they’d lost the trial. When they approached a cross street with a
rolled over bus, there was an empty water bottle with a label from the submarine.
He pointed it out without speaking then followed the bus around to the muddy
slope leading up the highway. There were obvious signs of boot prints and drag
marks where the team climbed the muddy rise.

“I’ll go first,” Sean whispered
clipping his weapon to a harness and grabbing clumps of grass as he made his
way up the hill.  Once reaching the highway, he assumed a lookout position and
signaled for Brad to follow him. At the top, Sean pointed to an empty fruit can
and muddy boot prints. They turned and headed off, not wanting to waste any
time knowing the trail was hot. Sean moved them at a quick pace, only stopping
to duck below or under vehicles to let wandering Primals pass by.

They patrolled beyond the destroyed
hulks of vehicles and out of the city limits. Sean climbed on the hood of truck
to see farther over the horizon. They heard it at the same time, a loud engine noise
coming from behind. Sean spun on his heels while Brad climbed the truck and saw
it—a column of four black SUVs racing down the median of the highway; sometimes
having to weave between vehicles or using their winches to make a path.

“They’ll be on us soon. What do we
do?” Brad asked.

“We can’t let them pass,” Sean
answered, taking the rifle from his pack.

“But the man, he said— “

“Doesn’t matter, we can’t trust
anyone. We need to get the girl to Savannah. How do we know they won’t kill us
on sight?”

“So… that’s it then?” Brad asked.

“Trust no man but God,” Sean said
setting up his rifle. “Don’t worry. I’m not killing anyone; I just want to
delay them.”

Brad jumped off the truck and ran
to the front where he set up the SAW on the bipod, aiming across the hood of
the truck. He attached a plastic box holding 200 rounds. He yelled up at Sean,
“I’m set, just suppressing right? Not killing anyone.”

“That should work for now. Be ready
to haul ass when I say,” Sean answered.

Brad watched as the vehicles moved
onto the highway and squeezed between the stopped vehicles. Sean waited for
them to drive around a blue van then into a narrow lane—a solid bottle neck.
Sean rapidly fired into the lead vehicles engine block, steam and spray
exploding into the air. The lead vehicle stopped dead; the vehicles behind,
trapped in the column, attempted to back up. They bumped into each other and
tires squealed as they attempted to push free.  The second vehicle slammed
forward, trying to push the first disabled SUV ahead and out of the way. Brad
aimed low and let out a twelve-round burst, skipping rounds across the road and
into the surrounding vehicles.

The trail SUV stopped pushing and
reversed, looking for a way out. Sean switched his angle as the last vehicle in
line attempted to maneuver around the blue van. Sean took more well placed
shots and exploded a front tire to prevent the SUV from turning. It cut at a sharp
angle and collided with the van as the third vehicle spun back and pinched it in,
effectively blocking the entire convoy. Sean held his fire. Brad stayed on the
SAW observing. A man opened a truck door and dove out to cover.

“They’re on the move!” Brad yelled.

“Tracking,” Sean called out firing
another round into a fender to keep the man’s head down. More doors opened and
they started taking return fire. A round hit the windshield over Brad’s head;
he spun, let off another burst of machine gun fire, and hit the vehicles around
the SUVs, trying to back the men off.

“Okay,” Sean yelled, “let’s haul
ass before I kill someone”.

Brad pulled the SAW off of the
truck and turned to run down the highway. He stopped dead in his tracks and
leapt back into the cover of the panel truck. “Oh shit!” he yelled.

Sean dropped off the top of the
truck landing next to Brad, “Wha—“

Ahead in the road was a swarm of
charging Primals. More were coming out of the woods on all sides. Rounds
impacted the panel truck, trapping them. Brad leveled the SAW and cut down the
first line of Primals, but more filled the void as they poured in and over the
abandoned cars. Another salvo of rounds pinged off the body of the panel truck.

“Wow, are we screwed or what?” Sean
laughed raising his rifle and firing, knocking down a fast runner before
shifting and hitting another.

“You’re fucking nuts, man!” Brad
replied as he fired an extended burst into the charging crazies watching them
get closer. Brad pulled a grenade and tossed it ahead; they didn’t duck for
cover, firing through the blast instead. Quickly tossing another, Brad turned
to look around the corner and fired at the SUVs. “You got to be joking, they
are moving up on us,” he said as he watched the men in black bounding forward, firing
at the panel truck as they moved. Brad leaned around the corner to fire again
as a round cut into the truck and hitting the M249’s hand guard. Brad tossed it
away as plastic bits and metal exploded, hitting him in the face.

Brad spun back behind the cover of
the truck. Sean had the M203 out, pumping 40mm grenades and firing the rifle at
the approaching Primals. A round skipped off the pavement, clipping Sean’s boot
and knocking him to the ground. Another round tore through the corner of the
truck hitting Sean in the shoulder, spinning him around and forcing him to drop
the rifle. Brad dropped beside him, firing his M4 in an attempt to slow the
advancing mob. The world exploded with the sounds of heavy machine gun fire. Vehicles
on all side of the duo exploded. Brad crawled over Sean to shield his body as
more explosive projectiles impacted the ground all around him.

He heard the sounds of an M2
machine gun thumping, rounds ripping overhead, and an MK19 barking as it fired
grenades at the masses. Brad crept his head up and saw the Primals being ripped
apart as they were turning to face a new enemy. They fell backwards in a wave
as a large, olive green eight wheeled Light Armored Vehicle tore through the
mob, crushing them under its tires and easily knocking disabled cars aside.  Two
more LAV-Strykers rolled forward, blasting away with their M2 machine guns, as
the third launched projectiles from its MK19. The Strykers rolled past the
truck, shielding the men.

The lead vehicle launched a rapid
burst from the MK19 and destroyed the parked SUVs. A ramp dropped from one of
the vehicles and a troop of men dressed in army combat uniforms rushed out,
firing and providing security. They grabbed Brad and Sean and dragged them back
to the Stryker. The crew piled back in and the ramp closed. The heavy vehicle
rocked and crunched as it backed into cars in and attempt at a three-point-turn.
A medic piled over Sean, cutting away his vest and shirt to work on his wound. For
the first time, Brad saw that Brooks was on board. He was assisting the medic,
sticking an IV needle into Sean’s arm.  Brad fell back in his seat as the
Stryker crunched over a vehicle as it raced down the road. He looked around the
cabin into the solemn faces of helmeted and goggled men.

“How?” Brad mumbled.

A soldier wearing captain’s bars on
his Kevlar helmet sitting in a seat across from Brad leaned forward. “We found
your people up the road,” he yelled speaking over the noise of the engines. “Are
you hurt, Sergeant?” the captain asked pointing at Brad’s face.

Brad touched the side of his face
feeling the bloody cuts where the bits of SAW cut into him. “Oh, my rifle
exploded,” he mumbled, causing the other soldiers around him to chuckle. Brad
looked at them uneasily. “Where did you come from?”

“We’re out of Combat Outpost Savannah.
What’s left of the 3rd Infantry Division, 75th Rangers,
even have some Jarheads we picked up near Paris Island. Sounds like you folks
had a hell of a party last night. Scouts heard the ruckus; we decided to send a
patrol up the road and ran into your friends—damn, your friends are persistent,
we normally don’t patrol this far up the highway.”

EPILOGUE

He walked alone down the long
hallway and past the reception desk. The lights were dim; the base was running
solely on diesel generators and some solar cells. Windows were open, allowing a
cool breeze to flow though the hallways. Brad made his way to a closed door and
compared the number above it to one written on a scrap of yellow paper.

He looked down at his fresh boots
and new uniform and knocked at the door. He put his hand to the knob and
pressed it open to find a man with a heavily bandaged chest and an arm hooked
to machines. Sleeping in a chair by his side was Ella, curled in a ball under a
thick blanket. Brad turned when he saw Chelsea jump to her feet and rush across
the room to hug him.

“I heard you were back. How is
Chief?” she asked, letting go and backing away. “Please have a seat,” she said
motioning to a set of chairs. Brad walked across the room and sat by a window,
Chelsea sitting next to him.

“He’s good, Chelsea. The Doc said
he should be back up in no time. How are they?” Brad said indicating Shane.

“Doing good, considering… she was
only bruised up in the car accident. Good food and water and she’s finally
putting on some weight. Shane was hurt bad, lost a lot of blood; he will lose
mobility in the arm, but he’s tough. He’ll pull through,” she said looking at
Shane. “We gave the doctors the satchel; they’ll make sure the information on
Ella gets to the right people.”

“That’s great,” Brad said, staring
ahead.

“Who were they, Brad?” Chelsea
asked, “Howard, the men in black, all of them?”

Brad shook his head and sighed. “I
don’t know, but if the people here do, they aren’t telling us. Sean is
determined to get to the bottom of it; he’ll find out. They have no records of
a Doctor Howard,” Brad said, pausing. “Yeah, and Meyers has been relaying
messages to Sumter via the sub. Kelli and the others are doing great.  The Army
has been able to resupply the fort and bring some of the survivors back here. We
should be able to go there soon.”

Chelsea looked at Brad and touched
his hand. “I’m not leaving, Brad. I’ll be staying here.”

“Oh… yeah, you should do that. They
could use your help here, with the generators and…,” Brad paused then got to
his feet. “You know, I should go; Sean and Brooks are waiting for me in the
lobby, we have things to do.” He stepped quickly to the door. Chelsea stood and
grabbed his arm, stopping him. Brad turned around facing her.

“You could stay too,” she said,
looking him in the eye.

Brad shook his head. “You know I
can’t.”

Chelsea clenched her jaw and looked
away, not speaking. Brad hugged her tight and then turned to leave the room, closing
the door behind him. He couldn’t stay; he still had men in the desert.

Thank
You for Reading

If you have an opportunity Please leave a review on
Amazon

Lundy W. J.  (2014-05-01).

Whiskey Tango Foxtrot: Volume V

*******

ALL NEW FROM WJ
LUNDY

THE DARKNESS

The Darkness is a fast paced story of survival
that brings the apocalypse to Main Street USA.

While the world falls apart Jacob Anderson barricades his family behind locked doors. News reports
tell of civil unrest in the streets, murders, disappearances, citizens are
warned to remain indoors.

When Jacob becomes witness to horrible events and the alarming actions of his
neighbors, he and his family realize everything is far worse than being
reported.

Every Father's nightmare comes true as Jacob's normal life, and a promise to protect his family
is torn apart.

From the Best
Selling Author of Whiskey Tango Foxtrot comes
a new telling of Armageddon.

March 2015

http://amzn.com/B00QQIF93I

Thank
You for Reading

If you have an opportunity Please leave a review on
Amazon

Lundy W. J.  (2014-05-01).

Whiskey Tango Foxtrot: Volume V

W. J. Lundy is a still serving Veteran of the
U.S. Military with service in Afghanistan. He has over 14 years of combined
service with the Army and Navy in Europe, the Balkans and Southwest Asia. Visit
him on Facebook for more.

OTHER WORKS BY WJ LUNDY

SIXTH CYCLE

Nuclear war has destroyed human civilization.

Captain Jake Phillips wakes into a dangerous new
world, where he finds the remaining fragments of the population living in a
series of strongholds, connected across the country. Uneasy alliances have
maintained their safety, but things are about to change. -- Discovery leads to danger. -- Skye Reed, a tracker from the Omega
stronghold, uncovers a threat that could spell the end for their fragile
society. With friends and enemies revealing truths about the past, she will
need to decide who to trust. --
Sixth Cycle is a gritty
post-apocalyptic story of survival and adventure.

Darren Wearmouth ~ Carl Sinclair

DEAD ISLAND:
Operation Zulu

Ten years after the world was nearly brought to
its knees by a zombie Armageddon, there is a race for the antidote! On a remote
Caribbean island, surrounded by a horde of hungry living dead, a team of
American and Australian commandos must rescue the Antidotes' scientist. Filled
with zombies, guns, Russian bad guys, shady government types, serial killers
and elevator muzak.  Dead Island is an action packed blood soaked horror
adventure.

Allen Gamboa

INVASION OF THE DEAD SERIES

This is the first book in a series of nine, about
an ordinary bunch of friends, and their plight to survive an apocalypse in
Australia.  -- Deep beneath defense headquarters in the
Australian Capital Territory, the last ranking Army chief and a brilliant
scientist struggle with answers to the collapse of the world, and the aftermath
of an unprecedented virus. Is it a natural mutation, or does the infection
contain -- more sinister roots? -- One hundred and fifty miles away, five
friends returning from a month-long camping trip slowly discover that death has
swept through the country. What greets them in a gradual revelation is an enemy
beyond compare. -- Armed with dwindling ammunition, the friends must
overcome their disagreements, utilize their individual skills, and face
unimaginable horrors as they battle to reach their hometown...

Owen Ballie

SPLINTER

For close to a thousand years they waited, waited for the old knowledge to fade away into
the mists of myth. They waited for a re-birth of the time of legend for the
time when demons ruled and man was the fodder upon which they fed. They waited
for the time when the old gods die and something new was anxious to take their
place. A young couple was all that stood between humanity and annihilation.
Ill equipped and shocked by the horrors thrust upon them they would fight in
the only way they knew how, tooth and nail. Would they be enough to prevent the
creation of the feasting hordes? Were they alone able to stand against evil
banished from hell? Would the horsemen ride when humanity failed? The
earth would rue the day a splinter group set up shop in Cold Spring.

H. J. Harry