“Wait, you mean there’s survivors here?” asked Jo, leaning forward.
Ward nodded. "Before I came down, I spotted several houses up and down the street with second story lights on. First floors are dark, which means somebody's home and doesn't want the zekes to know it."
“We don't really know what it means,” Seneca said. “Could be people left lights on when they panicked and left—there could be zekes inside these houses, bumpin’ light switches by accident. Until we start breaching and clearing them, we won't know for sure one way or the other.” He looked at Kendra. “But, if there's lights on, then yes, survivors could be a possibility."
"We have to try to find people, right?" asked Sam. "I mean, we’re on the same team.”
Seneca grimaced, but Sam was right. "We can't save the whole world, that's for the eggheads. I'm sure some scientist is cookin’ up a vaccine or cure."
"We left those cops back in St. Charles," Kendra muttered, "I don't know if I could leave a bunch of helpless people trapped in their homes."
Seneca sighed. "I don't know that I could either. That's why we have to do some recon in the morning and figure out our next move.”
As Seneca discussed sleeping arrangements with the others, Ward got up and moved into the safe room. His face lit by the glow of the camera monitors, he leaned over the controls.
"I don't think these things out there are smart enough to open doors,” Seneca said. “They just kind of throw their bodies at things until they either break or open. That front door’s pretty stout, and it's got a deadbolt now. The back patio door is pretty well blocked up.” He looked around the basement. “I think we’re fairly safe for the night. Ward and I will keep watch, so you three can get some rest—"
Kendra shook her head. "That's not fair. We can all take turns keeping watch."
"That's right, them cameras in there allow one person to watch the entire house, right?" asked Sam.
"Here we go,” Ward complained from the safe room.
"Then it’s settled," Jo announced with finality, “we’ll all take turns keeping watch through the night so everybody can get sleep."
Seneca smirked. "For a second there, you sounded just like my old CO.” He considered it for a moment. Jo stared at him, her arms crossed, defiant. He raised his hands in defeat. “Fair enough—the main thing is we need to practice light security. No one leaves the basement without letting somebody else know. Agreed?”
Kendra shivered. "With all those things out there? Why would we want to leave the basement?"
Sam cleared his throat. “What if somebody needs the bathroom?"
Kendra blushed. "Oh."
"Hey, boss, you might want to come see this…" Ward said, his voice tight.
Seneca didn't like the sound of Ward's voice, nor did he like the feeling in his stomach upon hearing the words. That could've been the MRE, he mused as he headed to the safe room, followed by the civilians. But knowing what stumbled around in the streets above them, he wasn't betting on it.
"Whatcha got?"
Ward pointed at one of the screens, the view from a camera mounted over the garage, pointed up the driveway toward the street. "You see that house across the street?"
Seneca whistled. "Big one with the fancy front door that looks like they cut it off the White House? I don’t even want to know what the mortgage payment on that thing is…"
Ward snorted. “Watch the light—second floor, corner window."
Seneca leaned closer. "What light?"
"Wait for it…" muttered Ward.
The window lit up as if on command, then went dark, then flicked on and off again several times. After a brief pause the light turned back on and off again.
"Looks like somebody screwing around with the light switch in there…could be one of them things bumping up against the wall," Sam mused.
“That’s a pattern…” Jo commented, frowning at the screen.
Seneca shook his head. "I'll be dipped in shit…"
"What? What is it?" asked Kendra, leaning in to peer at the screen, close enough to Seneca that he could smell the shampoo in which she'd last washed her hair. A wave of embarrassment crested inside him—he must be ripe as a dead rhinoceros sitting out in the sun for three days, covered in sweat, blood, and dried zombie gore.
"That's Morse code," Ward said, tapping the monitor with his finger.
"No shit?” Sam asked. "Well, what’s it say?"
Ward shrugged and grunted.
Seneca leaned against the doorjamb and crossed his arms. “Honestly, I have no idea—but I’ll bet you anything it’s not a party invitation.”
“Plum?” asked Ward.
“Does he know Morse code?” asked Sam.
Ward scoffed. “Probably not.”
“You guys suck, you know that?” complained Jo. “Some super soldiers you turned out to be.”
“Who the fuck uses Morse code anymore? We’re not on a sailboat, princess,” snapped Ward.
“Whatever,” Seneca said, cutting the argument off. “Guess we know where we’re going tomorrow morning.” He turned to the civvies. “Here’s the plan: tomorrow, Ward will provide overwatch for you three while you strip the ambulance of everything—and I mean everything—we can use. Food, water, medical supplies, tools...everything.”
“What about those things out there?” asked Jo, crossing her arms.
“Hello, sitting right here,” Ward said, waving. “He just said I’ll be overwatch.”
“Well, I don’t know what that means,” Jo replied, laying on the snark.
“It means he’s going to provide security—he’ll cover you and shoot or otherwise disable any of those things that try to get you.”
“Oh.” Jo nodded. “Okay then.”
“What are you going to be doing?” asked Kendra.
Seneca looked at the monitor again. The light in the corner window continued to blink in that coded pattern. “I’m going over there to see what the hell is going on.”
“Alone?” asked Kendra.
“I’ll be fine.”
Sam scoffed. “Famous last words.”
“I don’t want to risk both of us,” Seneca said, jerking his chin toward Ward.
“Oh, but it’s okay to risk you?” demanded Kendra.
Seneca looked at the monitor. “If it was Plum, he’d have seen us when the ambulance rolled up. He’d have come over, unless he was injured.”
“Or knew he was turning into one of those things,” Kendra replied.
Seneca looked at her over his shoulder, then at Ward, who inclined his head in agreement.
“Well, we’ve got to do something,” Jo blurted. "We've got to help whoever that is.“
Ward stared at her. “We don’t have to do shit.”
“What? That’s not right—you said it yourself, it’s the end of the world and we’re all on the same team—the living vs the dead,” argued Sam.
Seneca frowned, but shrugged, his arm still crossed.
"Mission first?" asked Ward, deflated. “Still gonna save the world?”
Seneca nodded.
"I was afraid you'd say that," Ward grumbled, turning back to the monitors.
"It could be Plum," Seneca reasoned.
Ward grunted. “Might not be, too. I'd say odds are against it."
Seneca looked at his teammate. "So you're okay with just leaving him behind—our brother in arms—taking all his stuff and heading for the rendezvous with Martin?"
Ward shrugged. “Doesn’t matter what I think. I'm not the one in charge of the shitshow. And for the record, I’d take all his stuff and go find a safe place. To hell with Martin, to hell with the mission. This is every man for himself stuff, here, boss.“
Seneca felt four pairs of eyes turn toward him. He put his hands on his hips again. "We got a timeline to maintain with Martin. A very important job to do,” he added for the civilians. “But that doesn't mean that we just abandon our people—the living—to what's outside."
"Like th
ose cops in St. Charles?" Kendra asked.
Seneca shook his head. "That was different—those guys are trained, they had weapons, and they had a big building. They weren’t in immediate danger." He pointed at the house on the screen. "The zekes out there get it in their heads to break down the door, there’s not much to stop ‘em with these houses. All it takes is one broken window, and the next thing you know, twenty or thirty of these things’ll coming up the stairs." He shook his head. "No, this is definitely different. We’re not going to leave until we at least know what the hell's going on here.”
Ward sighed. “Well, I guess it could be even worse further on down the road.”
“Roger that,” Seneca agreed. “We need to at least get some rest and do a little recon. Agreed?” He asked, looking at Jo.
She lifted her chin and stared back at him. “Agreed.”
Kendra nodded. “Yes, we need to check on the people in this neighborhood. But I’m with Ward—I think we need to find a safe place…”
“Best idea I’ve heard all day…” Ward muttered.
Sam crossed his arms and looked at the others. “Sounds good to me.”
Seneca yawned, his jaw cracking. “You know what sounds good to me? Sleep. Who’s got first watch?”
Ward and Seneca looked at Kendra. “What? Me?” she asked.
“It’s only fair,” Seneca said, smiling. “Isn’t that what you said you wanted? To make it fair for everyone?”
8
First Blood
Beacon Point Church of Christ
Beacon Point, Michigan
Alan stood on the front porch. They had scrapped plans to extend the wall on the east side of the church, over toward the cliff, and focused instead on creating a barricade to protect the front door.
Just after dawn, more of the wretched creatures had been spotted from the lighthouse, moving through the woods to the east. They woke Alan, and he made the decision—in consultation with Mary and Cade—to move the cars in the parking lot and make a semicircular wall, blocking off the front of the church. They used some of the wood planks and bricks out of the construction supplies to fill the gaps between the cars. On the forest-facing side of the cars, they created a solid barrier of bricks and wood that wouldn't allow anyone—or anything—to climb over a car in a quick or easy manner.
Despite the chill in the air and the cold wind blowing off the lake, they’d managed to get the cars more or less parked in position and stack up the boards and bricks. By the time everyone got back on the safe side of their nascent wall, the sun was well up and the first of the creatures was only a few dozen yards out. The rest staggered forward, and Alan noticed one had a missing foot.
"All right, everyone, I think we can say that's a job well done. I want everybody back inside please, let's get all the doors and windows locked, and anyone not armed should be inside boarding up windows and sealing exits." Alan turned, still putting most of his weight on the cane. "It doesn't look like there's all that many of them out there, I guess maybe 20 ro 25 tops.”
“That all?” asked one of the workers in a shaky voice.
Alan smiled. “That's more than enough for us to deal with at the moment. Now, I need someone to run ammunition up to Cade in the lighthouse if needed, and another to stand watch up there and support him.”
Hands went up—both younger men—and Alan nodded, sending them on their way.
When all the noncombatants had retreated back inside the church to shore up whatever weak spots they could find, Alan was left with a group of six armed men. Two of them had been the ones to put down Tina Bickels. The others were newcomers.
"I'm not going to stand here and give you a pep talk, or tell you that all we have to do is remember our training and we’ll get through this alive." Alan smirked. "The days of me giving talks like that are long gone, and even then, when I was an officer in the Army, it wasn't my job to say such things. I was a chaplain," he said, watching the faces of the nervous men in front of him. He purposely lined them up on the porch with their backs to the church, so that he would stand in front of them, placing his back toward the wall and the zombies on the other side.
"I put my faith in the Lord, not weapons. But sometimes, God asks us to defend those who are incapable of defending themselves. Like the children, elderly, and the sick inside this church. You men have the only weapons available."
"We don't have all that much ammo for some of them," one of the men said, holding up a pistol. "I got two boxes. That’s not very much…" he muttered, his voice wavering.
Alan nodded. "Agreed. I'm not going to sugarcoat it. If these poor infected people were drawn to us by the gunfire earlier, then a sustained battle will probably draw a lot more. So I'm going to ask that you hold your fire."
"You want us to just stand here?" blurted a man with their only shotgun.
Alan turned to look over his shoulder. The first zombie had reached the wall and despite some grunting and slapping at the boards on the other side of the cars, could find no way through the barrier. Alan turned back to the defenders. "As long as that wall holds, we won't have to worry about it. I've given Cade orders not to open fire unless they get past us."
"No offense, Pastor Walsh, but…us? You don't even have a gun."
"Just because I don't have a firearm doesn't mean that I can't be of any use." Alan said quietly. "Those people inside, they’re watching us right now. We're the only thing that stands between them and a rather grizzly fate, should those things get across that barrier. If they see us panic, then all hope is lost. Our only way out of here is to escape out the back door and try climbing down the cliffs." Alan looked down and lifted one of his prosthetic legs. “For some of us, that's not an option. So," he said with finality, "here I stand. God willing, we’ll all come through this."
"More of them have reached the wall," one of the men said, looking over Alan’s shoulder.
"All right then, let's get into position. You all remember where to go?" Alan looked around. "Not like there's much space to move around…I just want to make sure nobody gets caught in friendly fire."
The men dispersed. A pair went to the left, to the eastern corner of the church to watch the monsters slap, scrape, and move their way along the barrier seeking out weak points. A pair went to the south corner, at the other end of the front porch. And the last pair stood with Alan in the center of the porch, watching the middle of the line.
The first few minutes went exceedingly well, Alan thought. The zombies had gathered on the other side of the barrier in a small knot, like lemmings. One or two spread out, slowly groaning and moaning its way along the wall, scratching and clawing at the wood boards and bricks. Eventually the little cluster in the center broke up, and the zombies began milling about.
Behind the barrier, they couldn't quite see the survivors in the church. From their elevated position on the porch though, Alan and the defenders could look down over the wall and see the tops of undead heads bobbing about as they shuffled and bumped into each other. If it weren't such a desperate situation, with such horrendous consequences if they failed, the sight might have made Alan laugh.
He limped to the far corner of the porch and glanced up to look at to look at the lighthouse. Cade leaned on the railing, his rifle sweeping across the wall, watching every target, but engaging none. Next to him, one of the young men who'd volunteered to help stood watch and pointed out targets.
"Hey—hey!" a man on the south side of the porch called out. "One of them…pastor, one of them is getting through!" he warned, his voice rising.
Alan turned and looked where he pointed. At the very end of the wall, right where the last car met the corner of the church, one of the creatures had worked a board loose by sheer dumb luck. One bloodied arm flopped about on the hood of the car, groping blindly.
Alan worked his way across the porch. "It's okay—relax. It's not able to get through, look."
"No, it's coming through! Jesus, God, it's gonna get us…" the man said, raising h
is pistol.
"Hold your fire," Alan commanded, his voice cracking like a whip.
"We can't let it get us!” the man cried, looking over his shoulder at Alan. "I had kids inside—" as he spoke, his finger, resting on the trigger, twitched just enough to fire the pistol. The man jerked back as the pistol bucked in his hand. A hole appeared in the wooden slat next to the zombie.
The sudden noise startled the zombies into momentary silence. Alan heard the expelled cartridge hit the concrete porch, then the creature on the side of the wall screamed, a bloodcurdling, animalistic growl. The cry was echoed from several points along the length of the fence.
Almost as one, the zombies pressed forward. Alan watched in horror as the top of the fence wobbled and rattled back and forth. Here and there, a plank fell over, and groping, bloodied arms—some missing chunks of skin and flesh—reached through, smearing gore on the cars lined up in front of the church.
"Shit!" the man who'd fired said, struggling with his weapon. "It's jammed!”
"Just—" Alan began. The man's partner fired two quick shots with his own pistol, and the others with firearms opened up at the same time.
Alan yelled, trying to maintain order and get them to stop firing, but it was a futile effort. The wooden planks all along the barricade splintered as bullets tore into them, fired randomly from the panicked defenders.
At the east end of the porch, the shotgun boomed and a whole section of fencing collapsed, revealing three bloodied faces all gnashing teeth and groaning. One fell forward, trampled by the other two in their haste to get through the gap in the fence. The other two comically tried to squeeze through the chest-high whole and ended up plugging it with their bodies.
A lull in the gunfire signaled to Alan that the defenders had emptied their weapons. "Cease-fire!" he roared in the silence.
Elixr Plague (Episode 6): Refugees Page 7