Eschaton (The Scott Pfeiffer Story Book 1)

by Shane Woods

  As if this signaled a party, several more shrieks came from another corner of the store. I dropped my magazine free of my pistol and slid another one home, releasing the slide just as Dave did the same quick dance.

  “I hear more!” I called to Dave.

  “Yeah no shit! But how many?” he retorted, clipping the rest of what he intended to say as the shop filled with the tremendous sounds of rifle fire followed by the tinkling of glass as the entire storefront exploded inward. The hail of bullets blindly fired into the area could be felt as much as witnessed as they flew by like angry hornets, making a mess of whatever they impacted.

  “HIT THE DECK!” I screamed at Dave as I pulled him to the floor, “HIT THE FUCKING FLOOR MAN!”

  We both dropped, full prone, side by side, and began sending our own weight in metal projectiles into the corner that made the most noise. Without being able to actually see what we were hitting among the explosion of debris all around us, we fired anyway, both pausing only to reload our weapons.

  On my final mag change, I noticed the rest of the noise, save for the next level ear-ringing I now had, had vanished. It was nearly silent in the store, though through the foggy downpour of exploded flour bags I could still see very little.

  As if from a nightmare, a single hand clawed out, desperate for purchase, mere inches from my face, reaching through the powdered fog as if trying to grasp me and drag me into a whole new level of existence. Not today. I flinched back, and opened fire, the muzzle blast from the small 9mm clearing just enough floating enriched white flour for me to watch the head attached to my attacker snap back, fall forward, and stay still after thudding dully on the tile. A puddle of rust marking it on the floor as holy men were once marked in Renaissance paintings.

  Then the voices of our comrades became evident. Shouting into the store, asking for proof of life, apparently.

  “We’re good!” I called back. “We’re safe, it’s clear!”

  “What the FUCK, man,” Dave exclaimed as he pulled himself up to stand next to me.

  “Yeah, we’re going to have to work on some safer practices, I think,” I said, bending down and fingering a bullet hole in what was left of a bag of flour just over where my head was.

  I turned to the front of the store and started barking orders, not even trying to hide the anger in my voice.

  “Next asshole that fires with friendlies downrange and no clear lineup on a threat gets shot in the fucking kneecap,” I told the group of friends gathering around the front of the shop.

  “We were-” Tony started.

  “Fuck that,” I snapped back. “You of all people should know better. No target, no fire.”

  “Yeah,” Tony resigned. “Understood, man. Sorry.”

  “Okay!” I began, “Let’s get a count of dead freaks, and anyone not counting, is carrying everything useable to the lead dump truck. This is now a scavenging mission.”

  “I sure hope it was worth it,” Clara spoke, as she tried to move past me.

  “It’s two-ply. Fuckin’ two-ply. Of course it’s worth it,” I challenged, shoving a pack of toilet paper into her chest to carry outside before turning to the countertop.

  There, Dave and I began loading loose rounds into our empty magazines, checking and clearing the pistols, and getting ready for whatever was next.

  The report came back, eight infected dead in that shop.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Everything of use loaded into the lead dump truck, we were ready to set out again. Our dreadfully slow and noisy walking pace set, we went.

  Dave now took Tony’s position in my truck, allowing the infantryman to be in the point vehicle and keep a constant visual on our avenue of approach. The odor of a joint burning slowly in Dave’s hand filled the truck’s cab.

  I continued searching storefronts, not seeing anything worth a repeat episode of what we’d been through. Leaning low in my seat of the tail dump truck, I chanced a glimpse in the mirror at where we’d just came from. What I saw didn’t completely register at first. I took a second, longer look.

  “Team.” I spoke through the two-way radio and received a mixed reply from three different handsets.

  “Full-stop, guys,” I instructed, and nearly had to stand my truck on its nose to stop it as the backhoe jammed to a standstill.

  “What’s up, man?” Tony’s crackling voice questioned.

  “We got company,” I reported. “Six o-clock.”

  “Infected?” Tony crackled again.

  “Nah,” I started, catching the chrome reflections in my mirror as our new company came closer. “Nah, man, not unless they can ride four motorcycles and drive a red car.”

  “What’s the plan here?” Clara called in.

  “Sit low, stay calm, but have a gun ready,” I explained. “We’ll see if they’re friendly, if not, I’ll call it out.”

  As I finished this and listened to the calls in the affirmative to come back, I grabbed the shotgun off of the floor next to me and began loading the tube with buckshot. Dave nodded, checked, and locked in his AK47 from the passenger seat, and laid it across his lap with the muzzle pointed at the door.

  A few beats later, the first motorcycle passed us, then another, the other two stopping by my truck, one per side, as the car pulled past and parked in front of our lead truck. Not good, if they just wanted to be friendly, they wouldn’t box us in.

  The guys on the motorcycles stayed stoic, one smiling and nodding to me.

  A middle-aged man exited the car, his burnt umber skin shining with sweat in the sun. He walked up to the door of the truck that Tony occupied with Clara. After a moment of conversation with them, he pointed toward my truck, as if seeking confirmation, and turned his scuffed and worn Air Jordan’s to walk in my direction.

  A few breaths later, he was by my door. Smiling jovially, and showing a few gaps where teeth once were, he climbed the step and hooked his elbow over my windowsill to steady himself.

  “Mornin’” he greeted, I remained steady. My shotgun casually lain across my lap, and my thumb nonchalant in its position against the trigger.

  “Not much for talkin’, huh?” the man goaded. “Well, you will. Because we need to have a talk.”

  “You’re off to a good start,” I replied, ice in my voice, something about him set my nerves on edge. “So why don’t you continue, so we can get on with our day.”

  “You see,” he continued, not missing a beat, “we scavenge here. And you’ve taken from here. We’ve had our eye on these machines for quite a while.”

  “Yeah, so have I,” I replied, the same level tone. “Guess you should have been here yesterday, you could have had them.”

  “Son,” the man replied, “I’m reasonable. I’d like to cut you a deal for half. Of everything you’ve got. You see, my boss has a compound, and our people could re-”

  It was then I cut him off with the back of my fist across what was left of his teeth. My goal was to take him off the truck completely, he merely staggered on his perch and came right back with the muzzle of a pistol pressed firmly against the side of my head. Well…fuck. It wasn’t supposed to work like this. Not at all.

  “Okay. Okay,” I cautioned the man, “I’m sorry about that. I’m nervous, I’ve never done this before.”

  Grinning, he spat blood onto the street surface.

  “That’s fine, it’s easy,” he climbed back into his sales pitch, “as I was saying, our people could really use the supplies. Looks like two-thirds now, you know, split lip tax.”

  “I’m going to reach slowly for my radio,” I warned, feeling the pistol press tighter into my skin.

  “Only if it’s to tell your friends to comply,” the man warned.

  I nodded and reached for the radio.

  “Everybody.” I spoke into the mic, and waited for all cars to check in, “This man happens to be one hell of a salesman, and he wants two-thirds of everything we’ve got.”

  “No,” Tony’s voice crackled in. “Fuck that.”
>
  Tony was met with agreement from our peers. Good. I hope they caught my intention with my next words.

  “Now guys,” I calmed, “he’s coming from a good angle. But, instead of two-thirds, let’s give him all. We aren’t far from home.”

  I could see the man’s smile widen in my peripheral vision. I keyed the mic to stay open.

  “Now,” I spoke, as in one motion, I ducked my head forward and depressed the shotgun’s trigger with my thumb and prayed. The gun dug into my thighs as it went off. The sound of the shot inside the cabin of the truck was beyond deafening. The shot was true, ripping through the door of the truck and catching him square in the midsection. The force of the blast did what my backhand couldn’t and sent him sprawling onto the pavement clutching and clawing at his gut.

  A moment after, Dave opened up with his AK, and every other vehicle began spitting ammunition through doors and windows and…receiving fire. By the time the wave of panic for my friends washed over me, it was over. Gun smoke rolled across our area and people began scrambling out of vehicles. That’s when I heard it. It was Clara’s voice.

  “Tony’s hit!” she yelled. “He’s fuckin’ hit!”

  “So am I,” Dave called from behind me, as I turned in horror to see my friend of many years passing the front of my truck, clutching his chest.

  “Shit hurts more than I thought it would,” he said as he leaned against the front of the truck.

  “Ah fuck man. Fuck, fuck, fuck, Dave, fuck!” I chanted, then yelled to the others, “Can you move Tony?”

  “He’s coming,” replied Rich. “He’s okay. Shoulder got grazed he says.”

  On cue, Tony came from the line of vehicles, a thin line of blood dripping from his shoulder. Then he saw Dave and started running.

  We got Dave’s hand away from his chest and saw three neat little wounds right across the mass of his narrow chest. Each wound wept with blood. Getting him laid down on the pavement, I pulled my knife and cut the front of his shirt open.

  “Give me some water,” I called out, and immediately received a bottle.

  I punched a hole in the top of the lid with my knife so I could squeeze the bottle and create enough pressure to clean the wounds out. Then, while Clara knelt next to him, and Tony stood over top, I began irrigating his wounds, washing blood and dirt away as gently as I could.

  When the water hit his chest, Dave let out a gasp of air. Poor fucker.

  With the wounds cleaned, I could look at what we were working with.

  “What the fuck?” I inquired.

  “What is it?” Tony asked, panic in his voice.

  “Get me a med kit,” I instructed Tony, who dug into his backpack and handed his to me.

  I searched the kit and found exactly what I was looking for.

  “Okay Dave,” I said soothingly. “Do you want regular, or Lion King?”

  Everybody, even Dave, shared a near identical inquisitive expression.

  “You weren’t shot, dickhead!” I chastised Dave. “Probably shrapnel, it hit you but didn’t even penetrate. You’re missing skin, it will sting for a bit, but you’re probably okay.”

  “Oh!” Dave said, shocked, then laid his head back on the pavement, looking like the fool he probably felt he was. Tony erupted in peals of laughter, and Clara got up and walked away shaking her head and squeezing the bridge of her nose.

  “Why do I deal with you guys?” Clara asked, turning back around, her expression halfway between exasperation and humor.

  “We’re family,” Tony replied, before bursting with laughter again and helping our friend to his feet.

  “Hey!” Rich called, “We’ve got one missing and one alive!”

  “Keep that fucker breathing,” I instructed Rich as I marched over, then barked to James and Clara, “Go find the other guy. Alive, if you can. Dude mentioned they have a base. I want to know our neighbors.”

  Just then we heard the rattling of a trash can next to an adjacent building.

  “He went that-o-way,” I said, pointing, as the pair took off after him.

  Turning to Rich, I asked, “Where’s he hit?”

  “Twice in the leg, looks like,” Rich replied, then added, “I’ll clean and wrap the wounds.”

  “Tie his hands and gag him first,” I ordered, just as Clara and James rounded the corner of the near building with a white guy in his early twenties between them. Must have been a short hunt.

  They pushed the guy down to his knees in front of me.

  “Look, dude,” I said in explanation, “I don’t want to be a dick. All we wanted was this equipment, now all I want from you is info on your, uh, your settlement.”

  “Nah,” he replied cockily. “Fuck you, homie.”

  “Okay,” I started, then, giving my best Gary Cooper impression, “We have ways of making you talk.”

  Rich finished up with his guy, and we were just about ready to get underway again.

  “Tie them both up, legs, hands, and gags,” I instructed. “Then put them in the back of my truck. Just push that car of theirs out of the way with your truck, leave the bikes where they are. I’m hungry and tired, I want to go home.”

  Everybody complied, and in no time the sounds of our engines filled the air, and we began our slow parade back home once the car was nudged aside by the massive dump truck.

  “You know,” Dave began, “I really liked that shirt.”

  “Shut up, Dave,” I replied.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  The rolling chain link gate moved out of the way as our vehicles approached the compound. Compound, I like that. I think I’ll keep it.

  My truck being the last, I pulled up to where a smiling Henry stood and leaned out my window.

  “You done good, my brother!” Henry called cheerfully. “Real good. Praise God!”

  “Thanks man,” I replied, then, “Hey, listen, Dave’s going to walk with you to get your storage keys for the south building. Then you’re going to meet in the parking lot with the equipment and start assigning jobs. We begin gathering wall materials and digging the dry moat tomorrow morning.”

  “Okay,” he replied, ponderous. “Okay yes sir, that sounds like a plan my friend.”

  Dave climbed out of my truck, still shirtless, and joined Henry as the older man slid the gate back and locked it, then headed toward the motor pool. The other construction vehicles made their way to the far side of the parking lot. I didn’t want the whole community to witness us offloading prisoners. I didn’t know how well it would sit with them.

  I pulled my truck to the front doors of the south building, and then put the back of it to the double sets of doors and waited. I was halfway through a cigarette when Dave came walking up the motor pool ramp, across the way to my position, tossing a large set of keys from hand to hand.

  As I disembarked from my vehicle and headed to the front doors, Dave followed, wordless. We were here to do work that needed to be done, but clearly neither of us enjoyed.

  Into the front doors, to the west flight of stairs, and down. There were storage lockers here, tenants could lease them for a little extra, each one about six by eight feet in size. They had solid doors, and could lock. This would do fine for containment.

  We found a pair of lockers, unlocked them, and left the doors hanging open. We then retrieved the two men and placed one in each…cell, I guess. They’re cells now. Looks like we have a prison. Now, how do we get information out of the prisoners?

  I started with the basic questions. Grandma stuff first. Have you eaten? Do you have enough to live on at home? You’re not still dating that girl, are you? Okay, maybe not as far as the last question, but the most I could get out of either of these wannabe gangsters was that they were both hungry.

  Playing the nice guy, I had Dave grab some MRE’s from our scavenge bags, and we set them both up with full bellies. Still, no breaking. They didn’t even so much as breathe what side of town they were located.

  I was about to start asking a bit more firmly, if yo
u will, when Tony appeared.

  “Nobody saw you heading here?” I asked him.

  “Nah man, nobody,” Tony replied.

  “Good,” I answered. “I don’t know how many of our people would be on board with keeping prisoners.”

  “Makes sense,” Tony concurred. “Anything from them?”

  “Nah bro,” I replied. “Not a peep, and we should have been smarter and blindfolded them. One of them recognized our buildings, so we can’t just sneak them back out and send them home.”

  “Damn,” Tony grunted. “Well, we need someone to watch them. A guard, I guess.”

  “Someone who doesn’t mind being alone, and can keep this secret,” I speculated. “Has anyone seen Chris?”

  Both Tony and Dave exchanged puzzled looks, then admitted they hadn’t. Neither had noticed him in a couple of days. I hadn’t either. Where the hell could the guy be?

  “Okay, we’ll figure that out later,” I relented. “Looks like you two are on rotating guard duty tonight. Give them each a bottle of water, don’t talk to them unless they are willing to spill it all.”

  They agreed, and I left. I joined the group in the parking lot just as Henry was going over the final revision of the plans to bolster our defenses.

  Work and security in shifts, with two teams. One team starts tearing down houses for materials and space, the other, smaller team, runs and guards the equipment as efforts are made to build a lengthy dry moat two blocks out from our original wall, buying us farming and living space, with enough land between walls to create a no man’s land for anything trying to intrude. The moat was to be about eight feet wide, and just as deep.

  Eventually, all the houses would be torn down, save for a sporadic few new constructions that could stand a while with little to no maintenance. The basements left behind would eventually be filled in with soil as we got bored and dug the moat deeper and wider, the land made then to farm to supply ourselves for a longer period of time.