The Ashleigh Rhodes Chronicles (Book 1): Dark Rhodes

by Michael Canon

  I was taking no chances with such a large group of Hunters. I had no idea how many more of them I couldn’t see. I backtracked into the yard I just came through and went around the back of the first house on the steep hill. I pulled out one of my zombie lures and let it fly down the street. I hoped the steep incline would carry it and any potential zombie party crashers further away from my intended destination.

  I crouched down, becoming one with the darkness as the lure hit the ground and started talking. In seconds the pack of Hunters flew past the house I was hiding behind. Followed by few Georges who bumbled their way towards the sound. I gave the undead another minute before I went the other way.

  Cutting through my last yard, I emerged in Myers’ backyard. I ignored the back door and went down the steps to the basement entrance. I turned on a small penlight and put it in my mouth. I keyed in the combination to the mechanical door lock and quickly entered the basement, shutting and locking the door behind me.

  “Who the Hell are you, and how do you know the code to this basement?” said a voice in the darkness behind me.

  43

  I raised my arms as I thought quickly and said, “I was visiting Chuck just before he lapsed into a coma. We were in Fallujah and Tikrit together in ‘13. He was my trainer at the end of his last tour.

  Guess someone else told him some shit was going down and he gave me the code in case I needed a place to hide out. I’ve spent the last month getting out of Boston alive. I’m trying to get back to my family in Tucson.”

  The disembodied voice was silent for a pregnant moment, then said, “Chuck never said he trained anyone, never mind a woman.”

  I shook my head and said, “Well, of course he didn’t say anything, we’re spooks!” with a touch of real, angry annoyance. I wondered why I was so annoyed at someone I just met. This was Frank, Charles younger brother, I recognized his voice from my new memories. He was high steel worker by trade.

  The small basement lit up as a light was turned on.

  “Okay, that makes sense. Hey! Is that a cat on your shoulders?” replied Frank, as he lowered the pistol he had in his right hand.

  I turned around and said, “Hi, I’m Ashleigh, this is Mr. Crowley. You must be Frank. Can I lower my arms, and turn off my flashlight?”

  He looked mildly shocked and nodded yes. I knew he and Myers rarely talked after our… ….their parents passed away in 1998.

  “Well hello Ashleigh, you an Ozzy Fan?”

  It took me a minute to figure out he meant Ozzy Osborne and his song “Mr. Crowley”.

  I shook my head no and said, “I inherited him, name included, from the last person I was staying with. We were on a beached container ship on Peddock’s Island. She died when it rolled over without warning.”

  Frank looked truly saddened by the news.

  Myers thought Frank was too soft, too emotional.

  A cold whisper in my mind growled, “Spineless fucking mama’s boy. No drive to take what he wants. Too fuckin’ busy being a “nice guy”.”

  I blinked and shook away Myers’ thoughts as I tipped to my left to un-cat myself and then shrugged out of my M4 and backpack. Crowley went right to Frank, who picked him up and loved on him. I walked over and offered my hand. Setting the cat down, he shook my hand genuinely.

  The realization that Myers disliked Frank because he could relate to people in a way Myers never could hit me like a bus! Myers sociopathic nature made him the perfect CIA weapon, but negated his ability to empathize with others. I could feel the memories of cold rage Myers had for Frank seething inside me. I would have to work on keeping them in check around him.

  Frank said, “Sorry about your friend dying on the ship. There are so few people left that every death is a tragedy. So, you and my big brother were Company? You seem young to be CIA.”

  I lied, “I just turned 30. I’m an ex-Marine. I was right out of The Farm when I met Chuck. He wasn’t too pleased to have me around. He told me to my face that he didn’t understand the Company’s thought process of sending an attractive, red-headed woman into an area infested with extremists who aren’t very kind to women. I heard him say I was so new I still fucking squeaked to a group of SEAL Operators.”

  With a sympathetic smile and the rolling of his eyes, Frank replied, “Oh yeah, no doubt you knew my brother. Tucson huh, that is a long ways away with all the Zs running around. Those fast fuckers are straight out of a friggin nightmare!”

  He motioned for me to follow him, “Let me show you around. The windows have rolling metal shutters, and the doors have steel security doors on the outside. The other side of the basement is an unfinished work area. I’m a welder by trade, let me know if you need anything.”

  I knew the house as well as he did. It was a medium-sized, modernized 1960s 3-bedroom, 2-bath bungalow. Myers had started gutting and refurbishing the entire house less than a month after he received it as part of his inheritance.

  Frank continued, “Everything is blacked out so we can use lights anywhere. Chuck was gone a lot, so he made the place into a fortress. We have solar panels on the roof, but they don’t pull a lot of juice in the winter. We can use some small lights but need to make sure we give enough to the batteries to keep the fridge running overnight. We have a well and around 2500 gallons of propane, so hot showers are still available.”

  Pointing to the wood stove in the corner, he continued, “We have heat, but I keep it low, so dress warmly. The zombies get curious if they smell a lot of smoke.”

  Frank led me into the unfinished, tool room side of the cellar. The large metal door on the back wall was what I keyed in on. This is where Myers kept his toys.

  Nodding towards the door, Frank said, “I know there’s lots of guns and stuff in there, I helped put in the steel reinforced door and walls, but I don’t know where the key is, and I’m a little afraid to use a torch on it.”

  I motioned for him to follow me upstairs. I made a show of looking for the kitchen, and the spice cabinet. Removing a spice jar of rosemary from the cabinet, I took the top off and fished around inside with my pinky to extract a large key.

  I explained, “Chuck told me where this was too. Oh, you were right not to burn out the lock, you would have gone “BOOM” if you did. Your brother wasn’t very trusting.”

  Frank laughed loudly, “Ashleigh, I believe that is the understatement of the century.” as we headed back downstairs.

  The locked room held a lot of guns and even more ammunition, as well as other goodies.

  Frank whistled quietly and said, “That is a lot of hardware. If there is anything you want, go for it. There’s plenty here for both of us.”

  I nodded thanks and grabbed a half dozen M4 - 30 round magazines. I dug into the large stash of ammunition and started loading them.

  As I loaded, I asked, “You know how to use a rifle?”

  Frank said, “Yeah, Dad had Chuck and me shooting as soon as we could handle a rifle. It was one of the only activities we all did together. I’ve been kinda afraid of shooting too much. I only do it as a last resort. It attracts too much attention for my tastes.”

  Frowning, I replied, “You’ll get no argument here. I had a nice 3-foot pry bar I used for that exact reason, and I just realized I left it on the ship.”

  Frank and I talked for a few hours and then showed me to the bathroom and one of the bedrooms. I took a quick shower, then headed to bed. I snuggled down under the multiple comforters with my Tom Cat sidekick and fell asleep.

  Early the next morning, I joined Frank and Crowley in the kitchen. Sitting down at the small table, Frank set a cup of coffee in front of me.

  He pointed to the cat and said, “Sorry, I wasn’t peeking or snooping, I promise. I opened your door to let Crowley out. He was howling loud enough to wake the dead. He asked to go out, snuck outside, did his thing, snuck back in. He’s on his second plate of rehydrated eggs. Damnedest cat I ever met. You hungry?”

  I laughed, and said, “I told him exactly that just b
efore we got here! Food would be great!”

  Frank added a plate of scrambled eggs and O’Brien potatoes to my coffee, and said, “It’s all rehydrated, but taste pretty damn good, if you ask me. Chuck’s third bedroom is packed with survival food stuff.”

  Before he turned away, I stood up and hugged him, “Thank you for all of your help. You could have kicked my ass out the other night.”

  Returning my hug, he said, “No, I couldn’t have. Like I said, there are too few people left for us to not care about one another. When we’re done here, let’s head to the cellar, I have an idea I want to go over with you.”

  We headed to the cellar about an hour later. On the way down Frank said, “You got me thinking about how I could improve on your crowbar.” as he selected a steel rod from a pile in the corner.

  While he worked, I went back into the gun room. I found a nice Smith & Wesson .40 and holster with an ankle strap, along with a new heavy, Tanto-bladed knife with a boot sheath. It was wider and a bit longer than the one I’d lost in the boat crash and made for a very suitable replacement.

  After loading four magazines for the .40, and adding couple boxes of ammo to my pack, and took out three of my lures I was going to give to Frank. I broke down, cleaned, and reassembled my 9mm and M4 while I waited for him to finish.

  Calling me out of the secure room, he said, “I think it might be too heavy for you.” as he handed me my new mace.

  I stepped back and swung it around with ease. “Wow, you’re a strong one! I need to add some cord at the bottom to improve your grip.”

  Handing it back, “Thanks, Frank, it’s perfect, can’t wait to thunk a few zombies with it. I grabbed a .40, some ammo, and a knife out of the stash. I have something for you too.”

  Frank was really impressed with the lures, both in form and function.

  He replied excitedly, “These lures give me a couple ideas on how to clear the neighborhood of undead. We drench the house in flammable liquid, put a CD boom box in a window, and leave the front door open. Once the place is full, we torch the fucker.”

  I replied, “That is a great idea! Maybe put the CD player somewhere in the basement, and leave the basement door open too. We can toast a lot more with the added square footage.”

  We spent the rest of the morning planning our first zombie barbecue. Frank had a beat up CD player boom box and we found a couple of Myers’ books on CD. We thought talking would be better than music.

  We argued for a few minutes about who would go next door to raid the house for flammable liquids. Frank let his “being a man” get in the way of his decision-making process until I grabbed his wrist and flipped him on his back.

  “Okay, you can go. Forgot you were a spook.” was all he said as I helped him off the floor. “I’ll finish the cording on your mace while you’re gone.”

  I took my M9, my new .40, and knife. Leaving my M4 made me nervous, but this was a scouting mission.

  Frank headed back to the tool room. Returning quickly, he handed me a giant pipe wrench and a two-way radio, saying, “The wrench will have to do until the epoxy dries on the cord. Keep the radio on channel 3.”

  I snuck out the basement door and up the steps turning left towards the driveway. Peering around the corner of the house, I saw at least two dozen Georges on the street and in the neighboring yards.

  I backtracked and headed for the house where I hid from the Hunters the other night. I figured the area should still be relatively free of undead. My hunch paid off as I headed down the basement steps of this house. My luck lessened as I encountered a metal door with a deadbolt lock. I could have torn my way through it, but I was still in stealth mode. Heading to the back door, I quietly broke out a pane of glass on the locked door, before reaching in to unlock it.

  Entering quickly, I listened for the sounds of others in the house. Hearing nothing, started searching for the inside basement door. The house had the appearance of a family who had left in a hurry. I prayed that they were somewhere safe, still as a family.

  Opening the basement door, I listened, then descended the stairs. I was shocked to find a row of five bodies, each under a sheet, and a middle-aged man slumped over in an office chair. Old bloodstains at the head of each sheet, the splatter on the front basement wall, and the .38 revolver on the floor next to the chair told me the final story of this family. I cried and prayed for them silently as I passed by.

  I found a large can of paint thinner on a shelf, as well as a half-full three-gallon gas can by a well-used lawn mower. I took both and headed for the outer basement door.

  As I exited the basement, I peeked around the house in the direction I had thrown the zombie lure out of curiosity. I almost screamed out in surprise at what I saw at the bottom of the hill. Near where the lure must have landed was a group of over 500 zombies. Hunters and Georges alike were packed in together like sardines.

  I quickly headed back to the basement, and pulled out my radio and contacted Frank. After he responded, I whispered, “I’m in a house behind yours, at the top of a steep hill. It’s dark gray with white trim.”

  Frank said, “That’s the MacIntyre’s house, they were making plans to head to Bob’s brother’s place in Maine.”

  I sighed, and said, “They didn’t make it” explaining what I found in the basement.

  “Man, that sucks. What did you need?”

  I explained how many zombies were at the bottom of the hill, and how I thought the Macintyre’s house would be perfect for our little experiment, as well as being a nice send off for the family.

  “Meet you at the cellar door in 10 minutes” as he signed off.

  While I waited for him, I searched the house. I found another portable CD player, this one even had a remote. Heading back to the basement, I turned the volume down and turned it on. It worked just fine. Setting the player aside, I looked for a suitable basement window. The one nearest to the front door was perfect. Years of paint sealed it shut, forcing me to break it.

  Frank entered the basement just as I was going to smash the window, and whispered loudly, “Wait!”

  I stopped and watched him search the basement, steering far away from the bodies on the floor. He returned with a roll of blue painters’ tape and proceeded to cover the glass with it.

  He said, “Break away, Ms. Ashleigh” with a smile and bow.

  I broke out the window, silently, cleaned out the glass and tape and put the CD player on the window ledge, showing Frank the remote.

  He said, “We still need to protect it so it plays as long as possible.”

  This meant spending the next 15 minutes piling as much crap as we could behind the window. I made a Molotov cocktail out of a beer bottle, a rag and some thinner, giving the rest to Frank to spread around the house.

  The front door, and interior basement door were open, the others were shut and locked. A kitchen window was also open, waiting for the Molotov. Frank had removed the propane tank from the barbecue and put in the living room, with a spare tank in one of the bedrooms.

  With nervous anticipation, he said, “I think we’re ready” as he peered around the corner of the house at the massive group of zombies.

  Taking the remote out of my pocket, I hit the power button, and mashed down on the then the volume plus button and was rewarded with Stephen King narrating his “Bag of Bones” novel.

  Frank pulled back quickly and said, “They’re coming!”

  We ran flat out through the two back yards on the right, circling the house to hide behind the large plumbing panel truck in the driveway. The Hunters arrived first, milling around in the yard before entering the house. Once the Hunters entered the house, other zombies followed them, causing more zombies to follow suit.

  Frank whispered, “There’s no way they’re all going to fit! We shoulda done the house across the street too.”

  I replied, “Yeah, but I’m worried about burning down the whole neighborhood.”

  We waited for almost 15 minutes for the house to stop
accepting more of the undead.

  When we agreed no more would fit, I crept back to the open kitchen window, lit the Molotov, and tossed it in. A few of the straggling Georges saw me and followed me back to Frank. He watched me take them out quickly and quietly with the wrench.

  With a stunned look, he said, “Wow, you’re just as deadly as my brother was, remind me not to piss you off.”

  We returned to the plumbing truck to review our work. Thick black smoke, accentuated by gouts of flame poured out of the house. Some of the late-comer Georges appeared to be avoiding the house as the flames intensified.

  “I thought they didn’t self-preserve?” exclaimed Frank, loud enough to make some turn towards us.

  I swatted him on the arm as we ducked behind the truck. Looking under the truck, we watched as the Georges’ attention was diverted by an exploding propane tank. Pointing the finger at him, while smiling I said, “You got lucky, Mister!”

  We watched the house burn for another hour, satisfied the neighboring houses were safe. There was not much we could do if the fire spread. We just wanted to make sure it wasn’t going to sneak up on us. We decided to leave the area as more zombies started trickling in.

  Returning to Frank’s place, we made a late lunch and discussed what had happened.

  “It worked really well, but I still think we need to have a second house ready for all the stragglers. A warehouse or stand alone industrial building would be great too.” said Frank.

  I agreed, and added, “Getting them to group together with some sort of lure before herding them into a house or building would be helpful too.”

  That night, Frank presented “Thunker” to me, as we ate a dinner of self-heating MREs in the basement, near the wood stove. Mine was a No. 20: Spaghetti with Meat Sauce. Have to say, it was pretty darn good.

  In between mouthfuls, I said, “I’ll be hitting the road tomorrow, still have a long way to go to get back to Tucson.”

  Frank nodded and said, “You looked like you needed to move since you got here, be right back.”