Fight Like Hell [America Falls Series | Books 1-6]

by Medbury, Scott

  “Thanks, Rambo,” I said, smiling.

  “I’m serious, dude.”

  “I know,” I said, putting my hand up. “Don’t worry. We’ll be careful.”

  We said our goodbyes and, with a last look over my shoulder at Indigo, we began to walk up the sloping driveway towards the gate.

  4

  It was slow going until the sun came up. The morning was cold, and I felt for Paul and Ben. While I still had the boots from my brief stint as a soldier back at Drake Mountain, they still wore the canvas shoes they had been supplied when we had arrived. The flimsy shoes were really inadequate for anything but indoor use, and after our long walk from the facility to the Valley, they were pretty much worn out. To their credit, they didn’t complain, apart from the occasional obscenity when stepping on a sharp stone.

  Even with their footwear issues, we made good time as a group of three and reached the southern tip of Squam Lake in just a few hours. We rested there a while and ate some Hershey’s Bars Indigo had found in the farmhouse pantry.

  The day had warmed considerably by then and Ben suggested we go ‘bathing’ before we headed off again. Paul looked at the English boy as if he had lost his mind. I started laughing.

  “He means go for a swim.”

  “Oh,” said Paul, and raised his arm, sniffing under it.

  I didn’t think I smelled that bad. “It sounds great, but shouldn’t we keep going? Besides we don’t have towels and I don’t want to walk while I am wet.”

  “Yeah, we don’t really have time, Ben. I want to get this over and done with.”

  Ben shrugged.

  “Okay, you go on ahead. I’ll be with you in a second.”

  Without waiting for a response, he jogged over to the water and gracefully dived, fully clothed, into the water. He surfaced a few seconds later then swam out about thirty feet before swimming back to shore and emerging soaking wet.

  “I don’t know if that was such a good idea,” Paul said, laughing, the squeaking, slushing sound of Ben’s wet shoes punctuating each step he took. “If the Chinese aren’t dead or gone, they’ll hear you coming a mile off.”

  By the time we reached Route 175, I was regretting I hadn’t followed Ben’s lead. While the morning had been cool, the late winter’s day was unseasonably warm and the forest that lined the blacktop seemed to contain the heat. It would be a warm summer.

  We stayed on the road this time. It was faster and easier to walk. In the event of a Chinese vehicle coming from either direction, I was confident we would be able to hear it and get into the trees before we were spotted. A couple of hours after Ben’s impromptu swim we took a left onto 175A which led right into Plymouth. At that point, when we could, we travelled closer to the tree line and hurried past those spots where the trees were further back from the road.

  After about four hours, we reached an underpass bordering the eastern fringe of Plymouth and stopped to drink, eat, and rest before we went into town. Not only was it cool in the shade of the underpass, it gave us good cover from which we could survey the road ahead.

  We hadn’t heard the sound of choppers or any other aircraft since leaving the Valley and, even as we approached Plymouth, we didn’t see or hear any vehicles. From the shadows of the underpass, I could see a gas station about two hundred yards down on the left. It had some vehicles in front but we could see no movement. Further on, there was no traffic on the road or any other sign of life, for that matter.

  “We didn’t come this close on our way past last time and we saw plenty of vehicles,” said Paul, in a low voice.

  “Yes, you’re right,” Ben said. “It’s definitely not as busy as it was on our way past.”

  Naively, I had half-expected we would see bodies lying on the road if the attack had been successful, but, of course, the nature of the virus meant any casualties would not have been instantly incapacitated. Like our own victims of the virus, most would have been bedridden or indoors hours or days before dying.

  I didn’t speak for a minute. We were only on the outskirts of town, so I wasn’t absolutely convinced the attack had been successful. I wouldn’t relax until I saw evidence for myself. We would still need to be cautious going forward. I pulled my weapon out of my pocket and indicated they should do the same.

  “Stay alert. We won’t know for sure until we get right into town. Until then, we need to be extra careful.”

  The main road into Plymouth offered little in the way of cover so we moved to the left and, with our weapons in hand, jogged across the mouth of a road to a copse of trees bordering the gas station we had seen from the underpass.

  Sticking to the shadows, we slunk to the edge of the driveway. The gas station was deserted, but it didn’t appear to be that long since it had been in use. The gardens were neat and the white painted building was tidy and well maintained. The only element of discord was the large Chinese flag atop the flagpole. The blazing red of the ensign jarred the senses when viewed in such a typically small-town America setting.

  “Looks like they made themselves right at home,” said Paul, bitterly.

  I scanned the area and spotted a camouflaged Humvee at the end of the long drive that went down the left side of the building and into the back of the lot. I slotted that information away in my memory bank. If everything went well, we might be able to load it up and drive it back to the Valley. I pointed it out to the others.

  “We’ll come back for that. Let’s get moving.”

  The abandoned gas station was promising, but at this point I still wasn’t willing to take risks until we saw more.

  We moved on cautiously, passing a Citgo gas station further down the road to the left and an overgrown baseball field to the right. Again, there were a few cars parked in the Citgo, but no signs of life.

  We passed something that looked like a rental car business, its lot full of white cars in need of a wash. If worse came to worse, we could raid it and take one or two of those cars, but I would prefer a Hummer ...or two.

  We stopped and squatted in the shade of a large, neat, red brick building. I quickly surveyed the road ahead before turning my attention back to the building. The wall above us was marred by a large, white Chinese character. It was spray painted on and I was curious to know what it meant. The building looked like it may have been a library in its previous incarnation, but there were no signs now to indicate that.

  “What do you think that says?” asked Ben, pointing at the stark white symbol.

  “I don’t know, but I might go and have a quick look inside. You guys stay here and keep an eye out.”

  Without waiting for an answer, I ran across the lawn and up to the corner of the building, stopping and peeking around the corner. There was no sign of movement inside, so with my heart beating fast, I turned the corner and followed the path to the doors.

  It was dark inside. I tucked my gun into my belt and cupped my hands around my face as I peered in. The desk was directly opposite the doors and a sign over the reception desk announced Plymouth City Library in brass plated letters. To the left of the desk, a large, arched doorway opened up into a dark, cavernous space. I couldn’t make much out at all, just tall shapes I assumed were bookcases. There didn’t seem to be much else of interest. I shrugged and, as I was turning to go, bumped against the door, which moved inward slightly before closing softly. It wasn’t locked.

  I looked over my shoulder. Ben and Paul were still out of sight in front of the building. Knowing I shouldn’t really waste time exploring before we went into town, I decided it wouldn’t hurt to take just a quick look inside and went in.

  Standing in the foyer, I immediately noticed the smell. It was more than just stale or musty air; I detected a subtle undertone of corruption. I turned to the left and walked towards the arched doorway. With every step, the scent of corruption grew stronger and so did my sense of disquiet. The stink was at its most unpleasant at the threshold to the main part of the library, clearly the source of the rot. While it was unpleasa
nt, it wasn’t enough to make me turn around.

  I wish I had.

  As I let my eyes slowly adjust to the dimness, I could make out rows of bookshelves marching like stiff-backed soldiers to the front of the building. I also saw there was something was wrong with the floor. Beginning barely a foot in from the threshold, an assortment of sheets, blankets, and tarpaulins covered the floor. It was uneven and bumpy, the lumps and humps as much as two feet high in some places. Worse were the unmentionable dried stains marring the coverings here and there.

  I felt a chill in my bones that had nothing to do with the temperature of the building. I felt frightened as I took a step forward. I knew what was under there, but I had to confirm it. I knelt, and reached out with a trembling hand, grasping the edge of the blanket closest to me, while staying as far away from it as I could.

  I took a deep breath and lifted the blanket. It came away with a sticky, ripping sound and revealed its horrible secret. A little girl. I couldn’t see all of her ... I didn’t want to. Her blonde hair was a pool of gossamer around her head, its vibrancy a stark contrast to the gray, shrunken skin of her face and the black crust under her nose. It was the teddy bear that got me though. It was clutched in her shriveled hands against her chest. A cherished toy that would never leave her side. Tears sprang to my eyes and I suppressed a sob. The bear was just like one my sister, Rebecca, had carried everywhere.

  I wiped the tears from my eyes and dropped the blanket back into place. I shuffled along and lifted another. This was an adult male. The crusted black stains on the parchment, like the skin under his nose and around his mouth, showed clearly he had died of the flu, too. I checked another, a woman this time. Same.

  The library was now a mausoleum.

  I looked around and tried to estimate how many bodies were in the room, but it was impossible. Between the bookcases, the undulating heaps were shoulder high. No, this was not a mausoleum; the word mausoleum implied a respectful burial. This was more a dumping ground. A dumping ground where the dead of Plymouth had been piled like so much unwanted garbage.

  I had seen enough. I was about to stand up when the hand fell upon my shoulder.

  I jumped in fright, but Ben’s soft words calmed me immediately.

  “We should go, mate.” I nodded, stood up, and followed him out. He didn’t say anything until we emerged into the sunlight and fresh air.

  “Heavy stuff. You okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  He looked me in the eye for a few seconds, then nodded, satisfied.

  5

  The further we went without any sign of life, the more I could sense Ben and Paul relaxing. I was still tense; my discovery of the bodies had unsettled me more than I cared to admit. Plymouth was eerie. It had been an occupied town, but now it was clear that it was occupied by nothing more than ghosts. The ghosts of its former American owners and now it’s more recent occupiers.

  “Is that a tank?” asked Ben, shading his eyes and squinting into the distance.

  It was. The large squat vehicle sat smack bang in the middle of the bridge which crossed the river and led into the center of town.

  “Should we hide?” asked Paul, with just a hint of worry in his voice.

  “No.” I walked on. “If there was anyone in it, they would have seen us by now anyway.”

  For cover, we still walked close to the buildings now lining the street, but as we got closer I could see that even on the other side of the bridge there was no movement.

  “Come on. It looks safe, but we’ll keep the tank between us and the other side until we get a closer look.”

  I darted out into the sun-drenched road and began to make my way to the bridge in a crouched run, trying to keep the tank between us and the other side. The others were right behind me. When we reached the tank, we spread out behind it, me to the right and Paul and Ben to the left and surveyed the town more closely. Even though the tank was in the middle of the road, there was enough room on either side for a vehicle to pass, so we had no problem seeing all we needed to see.

  At the end of the bridge, there was a railway track bisecting the road and further on the right, a new looking, squat three story building. Parked out front were a few military vehicles, but no sign of personnel.

  “There’s a wreck,” said Paul.

  I scooted over and joined them. It was an olive-green SUV, its front end now sporting a telegraph pole. The impact didn’t look like it had been too hard, certainly not enough to kill the occupants, but I could clearly see the shape of the driver slumped against the steering wheel, the white shroud of an airbag draped over him.

  “I think it’s safe to break cover,” I said, standing up.

  The car wreck had decided me. Given how things appeared to have been maintained by the occupying force, it seemed unlikely if things were business as usual, the wreck would have been left unattended. It appeared the Professor’s virus had, at the very least, driven the enemy from the area around the Drake Mountain facility.

  “You sure?” asked Paul, still on his haunches. Ben had already joined me.

  “Yeah, come on. Keep your eyes open and your gun ready.”

  Paul stood up, still looking a little unsure. I didn’t think him cowardly, just cautious and I took into account that he wasn’t as ‘battle hardened’ as Ben or I. I gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder.

  We walked across the bridge slowly but deliberately and headed towards the wreck. I put up my hand when we were about twenty feet away.

  “Stay here.”

  I walked the rest of the way alone with my weapon pointed at the vehicle. I was in no danger, not from the occupants of the vehicle anyway. The driver was dead, a messy mix of mucus and blood coating his mouth and chin, his sunglasses pushed askew by the impact leaving one puffy eye exposed. He smelled worse than the desiccated bodies in the library and I covered my mouth with my free hand to try and filter the stench.

  I moved to the rear door. Through the window I could see there was another body laying lengthways in the floor well. I was no CSI detective, but the passenger had obviously been lying on the back seat when the impact occurred. I was thankful he was facedown.

  I turned and walked back to the others, shaking my head at their unasked question. I motioned for them to continue with me across the railway tracks that crossed the bridge. The squat building was our next destination.

  I have to admit I was feeling a little spooked. Whether it was all the death I had so recently come into contact with or the unnatural silence, I’m not sure, but my spider senses as Luke called them were tingling.

  We scanned the area as we made our way cautiously to the building. When we stopped on the road out front, keeping a Hummer between us and the entrance, I checked the windows for any sign of movement before deciding to take a closer look.

  The doors to the entrance were wide open and I motioned for Paul and Ben to stay back as I crept forward. With my back to the wall, I took a quick peek through the doorway, my gun at the ready. The foyer was empty. There was an overturned chair and some papers scattered on the tiled floor. Opposite the entrance there was a large, unmanned reception desk.

  “It’s clear; let’s go.”

  We entered. To the left of the desk was an elevator door and, to the right, an entrance to a hallway led deeper into the building. We went to the desk first. On the desk top was a scattering of papers along with a machine gun and a couple of clips of ammo. I picked up one of the papers; the writing was Chinese.

  “Looks like they left in a hurry,” said Ben, picking up the machine gun and checking it over.

  “Yeah,” said Paul. “Should we check the building?”

  I nodded.

  “I want to have a good look around. Do you two want to check this level? I’ll go to the second floor.”

  “Are you sure we should split up?” asked Ben.

  “Based on what we’ve seen, I think we’re safe. I’ll take the fire stairs. If there does happen to be someone up there, I do
n’t want to be a sitting duck in the elevator.”

  “The power wouldn’t be on anyway, Isaac.”

  “Oh, yeah,” I said, feeling a little stupid.

  Ben didn’t take the opportunity to tease me. I’m not so sure Luke would have afforded me the same grace, no matter how edgy we were feeling.

  “Here, take this,” said Ben, offering me the machine gun after he rammed the clip home.

  “No, you take it. I’ll take your pistol if you don’t want to carry it.”

  He handed the pistol to me and I tucked it into the back of my pants. “Okay, we’ll meet back here in ten minutes. Don’t take any chances.”

  6

  I went to the fire door to the left of the elevator and pushed it open, stepping in to survey the bare concrete stairs leading up the first landing. The door closed behind me and I found myself shrouded in complete darkness. Not good.

  I opened the fire door and went back into the lobby. The other boys were already gone. I dragged a chair to wedge the door open and took the steps two at a time, pausing at the landing and checking I was clear before I moving up to the next floor.

  I listened through the heavy door before peering through the small viewing window. It was another reception area with no signs of life. I pulled the door open and eased into the room before closing it gently behind me. The click the door bolt seemed as loud as a gunshot in the (hopefully) abandoned building and I flinched.

  I crept to the desk. It was identical to the one on the ground floor. There was a desktop computer and a phone, but not much else. I continued to the entrance of the corridor to the right and looked cautiously around the corner. Big windows ran the length of it, allowing in plenty of light. There were four doors at regular intervals down the left of the hall. I tiptoed to the first one. Again, I put my ear to the door. Nothing. My guts were churning as I raised my gun and twisted the handle, pushing open the door.

  The stench in the room slapped me like an open hand. I clapped my free hand over my mouth and nose, not daring to breathe the tainted air. I spotted the source of the smell immediately. A bloated body in a khaki military uniform was lying face up on a sofa against the wall to my left. There was a gaping, blackened hole in the top of his head and a spray of dried brains, blood, and bone chips fanning out over the arm of the sofa and the carpet beside the body. The gun lay where it had fallen from the dead man’s grip.