Eschaton (The Scott Pfeiffer Story Book 1)

by Shane Woods

  In the following moments, a scene unwound that made me feel like I was watching a Hollywood film instead of real-life footage from a scout team.

  One freak came blazing full speed around the corner of one building. It started that strange bark, and a number more spilled out from the hidden corner, almost like legged marbles being shoved aside by a broom.

  Then the first giant flew into view. Yeah, I said flew.

  A behemoth much like the one at the construction site was picked up off of the ground and entered the scene horizontally. It hit the pavement, leaving small bits of its mottled skin behind as it found its feet in a hurry.

  A second behemoth entered the scene, taking a swing at the first and landing a glancing blow before the first tyrant lunged, spearing the second against the remains of a parked car.

  Smaller, well, normal-sized infected scurried about. Clearly, they were interested in the action, but did their best to not get involved. They made an effort to avoid the struggle going on, and most of them managed.

  One got tangled up around the second beast’s feet, nearly tripping it. The beast seized this opportunity for a weapon, grabbing the smaller infected and throwing her like a spear at the first monster. She hit him head first, stumbling him, before he regained his balance and lunged again.

  It was like watching a pair of mutated gorillas battle it out during mating season. The scene continued for perhaps another fifteen seconds before one got the upper hand.

  The first giant grabbed what appeared to be a burnt-out Vespa scooter from amid two crashed cars. He turned, and swung it like a giant hammer, catching the second right in the side of the head, staggering it until it fell flat on its back.

  Taking this as his chance, the first lumbered forward, smashing again with the scooter, bringing it down overhead and smashing the other creature across the center of the face. Again and again it raised the little motorbike, and brought it down, each impact heard audibly despite the distance of the person filming it.

  Finally, convinced that it was dead, the first monster stood straight, pulled its arms back, head arched to the sky, and let out a bellow that turned my stomach even through the digitized sound system. This sent all the other smaller infected scattering. They actually cowered around building corners and behind cars.

  “These fuckers are all, even the little ones…” Tony trailed off.

  “Getting smarter?” I asked. “Yeah, we’ve been seeing that, haven’t we?”

  “I don’t know what they were fighting over,” Jennifer added, “but they definitely seem to have some kind of structure forming. Like, social stuff.”

  “That they do,” James confirmed. “We’ve seen lots of examples of it, too. Working like pack animals, too. Eight of them had us cornered in the local parts store. If we didn’t have guns, we’d have lost to them.”

  “Okay, I want all this relayed to the medical team,” I instructed. “Earmark it for them to use to learn more about what we’re up against. Anyone who’s a hunter, or good with animals, too.”

  “Got it,” James said, withdrawing the memory card and inserting another.

  “Ah, okay, here we are,” he said, “Old Northern High School.”

  He began scanning through the pictures and video clips the team had gathered. As each frame passed, he said what he’d learned about whatever was on screen.

  Most of the information regarding the infected was old hand already. What was of note was the locations and conditions of things that could help us greatly in the foreseeable future. James even took the initiative to locate several private garages with wood and coal burning stoves for heating, making mention of their usage for our own purposes.

  Next, he reached the files containing their scouting imagery from Old Northern. Flicking through image after image of the complex owned and run by the micro-tyrant, there was plenty to see. One shot, however, captured Tony’s attention.

  “That guy,” he said. “Right there. Stop scrolling.”

  “Yeah,” James confirmed, “he seems to be running the show. He doesn’t do any actual work, but orders people around and in the evenings, he takes one of the women, or one of the girls, into the school building with him.”

  “That’s Big Tyler,” Tony confirmed. “Yeah, he’s asshole number one around here. Fuck that guy.”

  We quickly caught James up to speed on what had been happening while they were gone. The news of the Hashman compound brought light to his eyes, but the news about Chris and what Big Tyler’s guys had done quickly darkened them again. He was visibly angry, shaking and squeezing the camera in his hand until the case began to creak.

  “They have a tent city in the southern parking lot,” James explained. “Civilians, captives, slaves, whatever you want to call them, they keep them there. I counted 39. A few men and a few women, the rest younger. High school aged, mixed group. We figure they were holed up at the school when everything went to shit. They look bad, man. Real bad.”

  “We’ll get them,” I promised, watching a single tear fall from James’ cheek. “Keep going. At your own pace.”

  He wiped his eyes and continued.

  “There’s a rotating guard,” he continued. “One main gate, the rest is all original chain link with the other gates barred and closed off. We counted maybe forty-five of this Big Tyler’s guys all together, unless some live completely inside and never see the light of day.”

  “We’ll count for sixty of them, then,” I concluded. “Better to overestimate them. We’ve got thirty-ish adults ourselves. Fuck.”

  “They do leave in groups of ten to twelve,” James advised. “They go out at various points during both the day and night, nothing seems to be on a schedule. They’re well-armed, well-fed, but they’re loosely organized, and they do bicker quite a bit amongst themselves.”

  “We need to find a way to thin them out when they leave,” I surmised. “They follow a usual path out of there?”

  “Uh yeah,” James confirmed. “The main east and west stretch that the school sits on.”

  “We need traps, or ambushes. Tonight, and in the morning. We’re down to about 36 hours to do this,” I opined. “If they stay true to their threats.”

  “What about them big infected?” Rich’s voice broke in. “We could lure one right to them somehow.”

  “What about the innocent people there?” I questioned, then, seeing the figure next to Rich, “Ah, Mike! You made it! Everyone listen up, this guy is an ally. Meet Mike Hashman.”

  Everybody took turns introducing themselves to Hashman, and we quickly got him up to speed on what we were talking about. He knew about our plans to attack, I guess he and Rich had been standing there for a few minutes before breaking their silence.

  “Let me call my boys,” Hashman offered. “If they’re down, we could get maybe 25 more people in a few hours down here?”

  “Sounds good to me, Mike, and thank you.” I offered, “Guys, Mr. Hashman here has a handful of Marines, and a bunch of metalheads. They can definitely help.”

  Conversation rose and fell as soon as I silenced it to bring attention back to our planning.

  “Rich, take Mike and show him around,” I instructed. “I’ll be with you guys shortly.”

  “Will do,” Rich complied. “Hey, Mike. You guys have lots of crops, do you fertilize them?”

  Mike nodded wearily.

  “Good.” Rich grinned, clapping Hashman on the shoulder. “We’re going to have to talk about the joys of fertilizer and diesel fuel, too, hope you’ve got some to spare.”

  The pair left. Poor Mike, already in Rich’s insane hands while we began planning our avenue of attack. I pinched the bridge of my nose and got back into the conversation.

  Before long, a plan had been constructed. Everyone left to begin to prepare, leaving me with my two closest friends.

  “Think we can pull this off?” I asked Tony.

  “I sure as fuck hope so,” Tony replied.

  “We don’t have a choice,” Dave adde
d. “These dudes are worse than we thought. They need to go.”

  “Agreed,” I stated, as I leaned back in my chair and lit a cigar. “We can’t let this kind of evil grow in our own back yard.”

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  As promised, within a few hours a pair of boats eerily similar to ours were spotted heading toward our compound down the river. I got the call on the radio from Dave, who was by the river having a smoke on our own boat. I made my way to the shore, Hashman joining me and a dozen others.

  After Hashman confirmed they were his, those with us visibly relaxed, allowing their weapons to rest on slings and in holsters and instead, standing by to grab ropes and find anchor points to bring the boats in.

  Both vessels were loaded with an even mix of Marines, metalheads and others. Everyone was kitted out, as it were, and took on the look of any small-town militia from before the collapse of civilization.

  “Where’s Tim?” Hashman asked as Jason began helping unload supplies and people from his boat.

  “Sick. Again,” Jason replied, exasperated. “Says it’s his stomach.”

  “He’s so full of shit,” Hashman shot back. “That’s the fifth time this month. He’s just shirking duties.”

  “Definitely not full of shit,” Jason replied, chuckling. “Actually, he’s so not full of shit he’s not even allowed to use the latrines. Ramirez dug him out a shit trench by the fence line. Dude has to have IBS or something.”

  “Tim somebody important?” I asked, eyeing the pair.

  “Explosives guy,” Jason replied. “But, I think he’s afraid to be outside the gates.”

  “Every time his rotation comes up,” Hashman explained, “he ends up fuckin’ sick. Guy’s smart, but he’s useless. No matter, you guys have a dude that seems as good as Tim.”

  “We do?” I questioned.

  “Me,” Rich spoke up.

  “You speak boom?” I asked him. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “Never needed it,” Rich replied flatly, then, motioning to the second boat, “Is that for me?”

  “Yeah,” Hashman replied. “Fifty bags. It’s the right shit, isn’t it?”

  Rich approached the boat, climbed aboard, and began inspecting the pile of bags that covered the entire bow of the boat, making it sit funny in the water.

  “That’s the shit, good stuff,” Rich announced and began directing people to carry the bags to the swimming pool armory.

  Rich grabbed a pair of the 50-pound bags of fertilizer and departed as well.

  “Alright,” I stated, “Let’s get ready to brief everyone. We have a fuck ton to orchestrate, and the clock’s ticking.”

  “Let’s do it, dude!” Hashman agreed, clapping me on the shoulder jovially.

  I pulled the radio from my hip and spoke into it, instructing everyone with a handset to get everyone else together, we’d meet outside the south building as there were too many present to reasonably fit in the command center, and I wasn’t making everyone walk up the flights of stairs. I wanted us fresh, we moved tonight.

  ***

  “Everybody take a seat, relax, chill out, but listen up!” I barked out to the group of about sixty people gathered around.

  Tony and Dave had found a white board and pack of dry erase markers. The board, propped against the front doors of the building, held a crudely drawn map. The map laid out the school, the surrounding property, and a rough sketch of the surrounding neighborhood up to two blocks away from it with various symbols drawn upon it.

  “Here we are,” I advised. “We take up places on the south, west, and east of the school and break into four teams.”

  I pointed to various points on the board as whispers and low conversation started, presumably people trying to buddy up with each other.

  “Tony and I lead one team,” I continued, “Rich and Dave have their own place, and they’ll handle their duty alone.”

  “Yeah!” Dave called from the back, “We’re gonna fuck some shit up!”

  “Yes, Dave,” I replied, trying not to laugh. “Clara and Frank will lead the team to the east. Hashman and Jason will lead the western team. Tony and I will be south, as it’s our job to get as many innocent people through the fence and to safety as we can before Rich and Dave show up.”

  “When do we start it?” questioned a man whom I didn’t know, one of Hashman’s metalheads.

  “They’re good and drunk, probably high, after dark,” James supplied. “Except for a team they usually send out to do some night time scavenging.”

  “Correct,” I offered. “Ideally, Rich will show up when they’ve got their gates open to allow their scouts to leave. Either way, once we have word he’s coming, Jason’s team will set off a distraction just north of the compound before moving to position, we want them all looking away from where we will be extracting people.”

  “With a little luck,” Jennifer opined, “them being intoxicated will make them easier to distract.”

  “That’s the plan,” I agreed. “Everyone only need worry about their roles. West team will get the call from me, after Rich contacts me. Once their distraction is working, we get people out of there. Then, we wait.”

  “For?” Jason asked.

  “For our crazy redhead,” I replied, grinning broadly. “He’s going to do his part, and get the fuck out of Dodge, then we wait again. I suggest you all find solid cover, cover your ears, and open your mouths once he does his part. You’ll know beyond a shadow of a doubt once the waiting is over. Then, we all move in, staying in cover, and clean up the rest of these assholes until they either surrender, or whoever is left is dead.”

  Tony stepped forward and started letting people draw straws, the tip of each one was colored a different color, one color for each team needed.

  “Red with me,” I instructed. “Blue with Hashman, white with Clara. Let’s move, people! Triple check your shit, be ready for a fight. Each team, follow your leads. Hashman has given us some radios and earpieces that are bound as a set.”

  “Everyone on my team let’s go!” Clara ordered. “We’re going to help Rich load up this truck, then we’re out! Check your gear, don’t fuck around, don’t test me!”

  “One last thing!” I shouted. “There’s infected out there. Only kill them if you have to, do it quietly. Give us away, get our civilians killed, disobey your lead, or otherwise fuck this up, and I will shoot you myself. This is real, people!”

  ***

  Everybody had brought their straws to their respective group leads. Every group lead was busy assisting with gear checks and getting everyone prepped as the sun crept a bit lower in the sky, nearing the horizon.

  I met with Rich and several others near the back of his dump truck. It was the typical, lighter, worksite type of dump, painted bright city worker yellow.

  The crew had just finished loading up several 55-gallon drums. A half-dozen were left standing and strapped into place, two more in the very back were lain on their sides. Those two had been strapped into place, ensuring the others didn’t move. One of Hashman’s men was busy screwing wooden boards into place to secure everything further, while Rich had just finished securing a few car batteries with the rest of the load and running wiring through the whole mess. Every barrel had already been connected, and a series of wires ran to what looked like a mechanical timer from a clothes dryer.

  As I approached the back of the vehicle, Dave stood with his AK-47 cradled in one arm, a joint slowly burning in his free hand. He approached me as I approached them.

  “Sorry sir,” Dave directed, putting the hand with his joint in it up to me, “this area is currently off limits to all non-authorized personnel.”

  “Fuck off Dave,” I replied, laughing. “Should you be smoking that here?”

  “He’s right, man,” Rich called down. “Put that shit out.”

  “Fine, fine,” Dave relented, moving out of the way and off to smoke elsewhere.

  “Jesus, Rich,” I exclaimed upon taking everything in. “Timothy
McVeigh much?”

  “Should do the job nicely,” Rich replied, grinning as he fastened a couple more wires together. “I just hope it’s enough.”

  “It better be,” the unnamed Marine retorted. “You got half our fuckin’ fertilizer in these barrels.”

  “He’s got a ton of our diesel in there, too., I added. “No worries, we’ll repay you guys greatly for all the help.”

  “I’m not worried, we’re not worried,” Hashman supplied as he also approached. He took one look at Rich’s setup, then the cigarette in his fingers, uttered a singular “Oh, shit,” and disappeared again.

  “Got an estimate on when this will be finished?” I asked, turning back to Rich.

  “Now, pretty much,” he stated, jumping down from the back of the truck, “Let’s go, Dave!”

  “Hey,” I said, putting a hand on my friend’s shoulder, “You guys be fucking careful, dude. Don’t get in over your head. Be smart.”

  “You know we got this,” Rich replied grinning as he climbed into the truck.

  Dave followed by climbing into the back of the truck with the barrels, and pounding twice with his fist on the roof of the vehicle. He then turned and eyed me, a somber expression crossing his face and clouding his eyes.

  “Man,” he began, gaining my full attention, “if it all goes bad, if we don’t make it, I just wanted to let you know one thing.”

  “Yeah?” I replied, curious. “What’s that?”

  His only response was to extend his tattooed arm, hand facing me, with one inked finger protruding right from the middle.

  “That’s great, Dave,” I laughed. “Hey, I know where your stash of Arizona tea is. You die, it’s mine, bitch!”

  He thumbed the safety off his AK and glared at me.

  “You don’t fuck with my tea, dude. Don’t fucking touch it.”

  I didn’t have much of a chance to reply as the truck sputtered to life, eliminating the chance for further conversation, then it rolled to the gate, and departed.