Eschaton (The Scott Pfeiffer Story Book 1)

by Shane Woods

  The first freak hit the chain link of the front gate, almost just arms-length from my position. She came out of damn near nowhere, I was close enough to read the word ‘Hope’ on her Tiffany necklace. All hope was lost for that one as Dave loosed a half-dozen shots from his AK-47, shredding her from the voice box up. As the freak hit the ground with a jerk and a final spasm, two more hit the gate.

  Dave ripped the first to pieces with another volley, and as he changed magazines, I let my rifle fall loose on its sling and pulled my shotgun off my back. After disengaging the safety, I let one round of twelve-gauge buckshot fly, hitting the beast squarely in the face, and wiping its memories for good.

  “WE NEED TO SHUT THAT SHIT OFF, NOW!!!” I shouted over the cacophony. “TONY, DAVE, ROB, RICH, HENRY, ON ME! WILLY GET THE FUCKING GATE!!!”

  Willy did as he was told, and the others moved right to me as rounds from everyone else whizzed and snapped past us, seeking whatever moving body they could in the dark.

  Another freak hit the fence, and was quickly disabled, though not killed. Whoever shot him hit him right in the center of the upper chest. It must have passed through and destroyed its spine, as what was once a man dropped to the pavement before reaching up and attempting his journey up the chain link anew, until Tony drew his sidearm and planted a single forty-five round into its cranium.

  We tightened up into kind of a rough phalanx, and the couple of us with lights on our weapons clicked them on. Willy eased the gate open enough for us to pass through, then slammed it shut behind us.

  We began getting rushed on step one. The first freak making a beeline right for me as I first caught it in the light on my shotgun, then with a load of lead pellets to the face. The others began firing. Not as panicked and sporadic as those left inside the walls, but more controlled. More experienced, these were my guys. My core survivors, and it was not our first close encounter.

  “Keep tight!” I ordered, straining my voice. “Keep firing, we got ten more feet!”

  We approached the truck with as much speed and grace as we could muster. One round from inside the wire whizzed past me in the lead, then a second actually tugged at my shirt sleeve.

  “HEY!” I shouted behind me, “WATCH YOUR FUCKING FIRE!”

  I could hear no response over the noise of the horn.

  We got to the truck, and, looking at the form hanging from the tow boom, I could tell it was a man. Then I started to recognize things. The tattoos. The striped shirt. The head had lolled forward, the face was pointed straight down, but I could recognize the guy immediately.

  “It’s Chris!” I declared, amazed, and a bit in shock. “Fuck! Tony kill this dinner bell! Rich, Dave, get him off of there! Everyone cover them!”

  I couldn’t tell if anyone agreed verbally. It was just that fucking loud there, but Tony reached the driver’s door, exploding the glass with a couple of pistol rounds, and reached in. He removed a long dark-bladed hunting knife from the steering wheel, silencing the horn for good, then started flipping switches on the dash until all of the vehicle’s lights shut down, drowning us in darkness only penetrated by our weapon lights, and a few handheld floods from the compound as everyone frantically tried to pick off scurrying shapes.

  The guys got Chris down, and draped his limp form over their shoulders as we made our way back to safety. My shotgun had run dry, I tucked it under my left arm for the light and drew my Smith and Wesson 9mm: spot with the shotgun light, shoot with the little guy. Everyone else had apparently hit the same snag, and the crack and boom of rifles and shotguns quickly subsided into the pops and bangs of various pistol fire.

  “WILLY!” I shouted, “GATE!”

  Just as we reached it, the gate slid open and we piled through, half of us tripping on the other half.

  Just then, an infected hit the gate right where Willy was holding it, causing him to yelp and jump back.

  Before he could recover, or anyone else could react, another freak lunged straight through the opening. It hit Henry, who was trying to gather his feet after a tumble, and flew another six feet forward, coming down on top of him with a loud thud. Before the creature could gather itself, Henry whirled around on the ground, found Earth with his back, and placed his large revolver under the creature’s chin, simultaneously pulling the trigger.

  The gun barked a muffled report. The .357 round thundered out of the barrel, immediately ripping apart flesh and pulverizing the monstrosity’s skull like an overripe melon.

  Henry wriggled his way out from under the thing as Dave got the gate slammed and latched shut.

  The gunfire continued as Tony and I reached Henry, and we locked eyes with him, horror playing over our faces at the same time it reached his. He was covered from the chest up with infected gore. His frightened expression was soaked with blood interspersed with bits of bone and flesh.

  “It’s in my mouth,” he said softly. “Oh Lord, it’s in my mouth. It’s in my eyes. I’m going to be one of them.”

  Resignation washed over Henry’s face as suddenly his own revolver met the side of his head. He lined the barrel to his temple before either Tony or myself could react, and he pulled the trigger.

  Click

  Tears began falling from Henry’s big brown eyes as he pulled the trigger again. And again. And three more times, while Tony and I stood there paralyzed. Every chamber clicked empty.

  “Get me some water,” I said to Tony, who immediately reached into his pack and produced a large bottled water.

  I poured it over Henry’s face, trying my best to rinse away the threat. He shook and kept repeating over and over that he was infected.

  “We don’t know that, dude, you’re going to be okay,” I said, pleading with the universe as much as I was reassuring my friend, “It’s okay, everyone I’ve seen changed instantly. You’re good, man. SHANNON!!! Where the fuck is Shannon and Ashley?”

  My shouting brought both girls over, and as per my orders, they began tending to a sobbing Henry before leading him away to quarantine.

  “Shit,” I muttered, turning on my feet, “Chris! Where’s Chris?”

  I found a small group gathered around a large, limp form on the ground.

  I approached, and, finally, in the light of so many flashlights mixed with the fire of a nearby woodfire barrel, I could just make out the battered face of Chris.

  “Rich?” I questioned as I approached the scene.

  The last few rounds of gunfire faded away as Rich looked up.

  A single tear line from each eye cut the dirt, grime, and blood on his face. His usually piercing eyes appeared dimmed, and all he could manage was a shake of his head. Negative.

  Stooping down to find the carotid artery for a pulse revealed a long deep gash across his throat. Not abandoning hope yet, I gathered myself and felt for his pulse in his wrist. After a moment, I dropped the hand I held back to fall limply to the ground. Nothing.

  Chris Simmons was no longer a part of our world.

  Attached by a string to his other wrist was a Ziploc bag.

  “What’s this?” I asked, motioning to the plastic dangling on a string.

  “Let’s find out,” Tony replied, his voice bare and emotionless.

  He slipped his knife under the string, and with a flick, separated it from Chris, then tossed the bag to me.

  I immediately opened it, finding a piece of paper inside, which I then withdrew and unfolded it.

  On the piece of paper was a printed picture of a cozy looking townhouse-style apartment front. Across the top, it read Timberland Properties LLC.

  Then, at the bottom of the page, it read:

  Have you forgotten? Just a friendly reminder from those of us at Timberland Properties LLC, you are __ days behind on your rent. Please process late payments directly through the management offices. Have a beautiful day!

  “What the fuck?” I asked, before turning the page over and finding a handwritten note.

  Tony leaned over my shoulder to get a better view himself.
/>
  Tried being diplomatic. Now we do it MY way.

  You have 48 hours to bring the amount of supplies I asked for with generous interest to

  Old Northern High School

  Or we come back. We come in force. We take everything, and everyone left alive.

  You are property now.

  B.T.

  “B.T.?” I asked.

  “I’ll give you one guess,” Tony growled.

  “Fucking Big Tyler,” I stated. “Check Chris’ pockets and shit. See if there’s anything else.”

  Jennifer joined us and looked over Chris’ body as well. Lifting his shirt, and the legs of his Dickies pants, revealed a mass of bruising everywhere. His face, pallid and drained of blood, was swollen and lacerated almost to the point of being unrecognizable.

  “The rope marks where they tied him…” Jennifer began.

  “Fucking crucified him,” I corrected.

  “Right. Crucified,” she said, almost sheepishly at the confrontation in my voice. “They’re bruised. I think he was alive when they did that. His whole body is a mass of contusions and blunt force trauma. I feel broken ribs. I think one knee has been shattered, and an elbow. Jesus.”

  Clearly, she’d been learning a lot of medicine in her free time with Shannon and Ashley. In any other situation, I’d be impressed with my wife. Right now, as a new friend and a major player in our survival lay dead before me, I just wanted answers.

  “What’s all this mean?” I asked, perhaps more sharply than I’d intended.

  “He’s missing all his finger and toenails, too,” she continued. “Deep lacerations to his throat, under his armpits, and the femoral triangles near his groin. I think…”

  “Think what?” I urged.

  “I think he was tortured. A lot. While he hung there,” she stated with a tremor, and then they bled him like a pig for slaughter when they were done.”

  I clenched my shotgun so tightly the polymer stock creaked.

  Rich finally lost his shit completely. He stood straight up and stormed over to the gate, clenching the links in his hands and shaking them violently as he began yelling.

  “Big Tyler!!!” he bellowed, “You fucking fuck!!! I swear to God, you fucking fuck!!! I’ll kill you myself! You fuck! FUCK!!!”

  He continued yelling as Dave grabbed him under the arm and led him away toward the north building, yelling profanities the entire way, his throat growing more hoarse nearly with every syllable.

  “Jennifer,” I instructed, standing up, my eyes burning from trying to hold back tears, “Get some people to help you. Get him somewhat cleaned up and buried. We’ll schedule a memorial service for him once we can. Then get everyone rounded up on the north rooftop. Even the ten new arrivals.

  “But,” she began, “Shannon’s quarantine isn’t up for twelve more hours.”

  “Fuck her quarantine,” I stated firmly, walking away, then, over my shoulder, “I’m going to need warm bodies with guns in their hands. If they were infected, they’d have turned already. Everyone on the roof in 30. Let’s fucking go, people!”

  THIRTY-SIX

  Some people stayed behind to bury our large friend. Tony followed, and we stopped on the Medical Floor to speak with the ladies.

  “Henry?” I said upon entering the makeshift doctor’s office, making eye contact with first Shannon, then Ashley.

  “He’s good so far,” Shannon offered. “He’s moved to individual quarantine. Forty-eight hours. We’ll check his vitals and overall condition every six hours. Nothing to do but wait and make sure he’s comfortable. Everything seemed normal once we got him cleaned up.”

  “That’s great so far.” I agreed. “So, he’s doing well, but how’s he doing?”

  “Emotionally,” Ashley chimed in, her voice low and solemn, “he’s a wreck. He has signs of mild shock. He’s not spoken a word since he quit muttering about being infected. He just kind of clammed up and withdrew while we ran tests and got him settled in. He’ll need time, but the mental trauma could stick with him long-term.”

  “Thanks, ladies,” I stated. “Which room is he in?”

  “Last one on the right,” they said in unison.

  I departed without a word, Tony silently in tow.

  Upon reaching his room, I stretched a hand out and knocked on the door.

  “Henry,” I called, “It’s Scott. I’m sorry buddy. I think you’ll be fine. Try to rest, we have a meeting, I’ll be down after with a gift for you. I…I love ya, buddy. It’s going to be okay.”

  “Damn, man,” Tony muttered quietly, “You said you love him. You really are worried.”

  “Let’s go have a drink,” I replied softly, then, to Henry, “Okay, I’ve got to go. I’ll be back, man.”

  We made our way back down the hallway, passing our medical staff as they knocked, then unlocked and opened the first closed room by the main office. I assumed they were getting new members gathered up to meet with us.

  We reached the end of the hallway, went through the open stairwell door, and wordlessly began making our ascent.

  ***

  Taking seats on the rooftop, I cracked open a bottle of scotch I’d retrieved from my apartment on the way.

  I took a long pull straight from the bottle. The burn was a welcome sensation as the liquid settled firmly in the pit of my stomach. Breathing out and tasting the peat to the drink, I passed the open bottle to Tony, who took his own long sip.

  We maintained muted conversation about the events that had just transpired, and those to come. A course for the meeting was laid out as first Dave, then Rich joined us.

  Rich’s eyes had been rimmed red from crying, and as he passed to a seat at our table, he plainly snatched the bottle from my hand and took a large gulp himself before handing it back.

  Dave looked simply tired, the layer of grime that had collected on his skin and clothes was streaked through with sweat. He informed us he had helped bury Chris, and he was thanked for it.

  Before long, the rooftop was flooded with people. Men, women, and children all mingled together. This included the new survivors, who held tight to their own little grouping in an obvious attempt to maintain familiar company in an unfamiliar face.

  I’m sure we looked more than simply rough to them. Every one of the adults, even Carolyn, wore the visage of recent tears, or anger. Most of us had a mix of blood spatter and grime still clinging to us, as a telltale of how close quarters some of the fighting had gotten.

  “Everyone is here, except Henry,” Jennifer informed me.

  “Okay then, let’s begin,” I stated firmly.

  I stood up in my place at what was essentially the head of the entire rooftop. A few took notice, but most were still in the process of muttering to each other about what just happened. Some more ambitious individuals were in the process of cleaning their weapons and reloading magazines. Tony had definitely been spending his free time wisely, as he’d taken it upon himself to educate small groups of our community on their weapons and their function.

  “Everybody listen up!” I barked, and was satisfied when all conversation ceased and every head, even those of the children turned my way.

  “My daddy!” Gwen exclaimed from her mother’s arms, and a soft chuckle from the people gathered wavered and then died as Jennifer shushed the little bundle of energy.

  “We have some new faces with us tonight,” I pointed out. “I’d love to meet with you newcomers as a group, but for the moment, we have more pressing matters to attend to.”

  A few nearby the new people reached out in handshakes and greetings, and a murmur rose and fell before attention was once again brought my direction by Tony clearing his throat loudly.

  “The man responsible for this…issue…tonight, goes by the name of Big Tyler,” I informed the group.

  “He’s not actually that big though,” Dave interjected.

  “Yeah, he’s pretty average, I’d say,” Tony added.

  “Shut up, you two,” I ordered, trying not to
grin at my idiot friends. “He literally signed his work with this note.”

  I held up the note, then passed it to Jennifer to pass around so everyone could read it. I then continued my speech, if you could call it that.

  “His men attacked us when we retrieved the construction equipment,” I stated firmly, matter-of-fact. “He is the one who met Tony at the main gate. He threatened us. He accused us. He tried to extort us into giving up our hard-earned, hard-won supplies. Many of you know Chris Simmons went missing some time ago. Clearly, it was this man who held our own friend, our partner. A member of this community.”

  A murmur rose across the rooftop at the realization. The gravity of this situation began to level the mood like a road grader.

  “He not only held one of our members since long before we made contact,” I continued in explanation, “but once his petty demands were turned down, he tortured, then murdered that man. Our man. Then he brought a spectacle here that he was sure would flood us with infected. He has kidnapped and killed a member of our own safe home. He then put every one of us, new and old, even the children, in danger.”

  Voices began to rise across the group gathered here. Cries ranged all over the spectrum. Fear, anger, retribution, some pure venom, especially from my table.

  “So,” I began anew, pleased with the feedback and the rally of our people, “We need soldiers. I’m personally declaring war. You will be in danger. You will be shot at. We will attack their compound. James is returning midday tomorrow with a full recon spread of their location. I expected them to be an issue, but this… This is above and beyond. Those willing to join us in arms, raise your hand and remain. Those not willing, go to bed. No hard feelings against you, I’m asking a lot here.”

  Hands slowly began to spread, raised up in the air, across the rooftop.

  Katie began to stand and tried to grab Willy by the arm to lead him away as well. Jennifer, mid turn, grabbed her arm, yanking the overweight woman back to her seat forcefully.

  “Sit, and raise your hand,” Jennifer spat at her. “He’s not going to take your fat ass anyway, but you better volunteer.”