The Ashleigh Rhodes Chronicles (Book 1): Dark Rhodes

by Michael Canon

  I thought for a moment and smiled evilly. ”They are all female, huh?”

  “Yes,” he said warily.

  My smile became even broader, and I said “Tree Hugging Hookers or Hookers for short.”

  Dave groaned, “You had to go there, didn’t you?”

  I replied, “Do you have anything better?”

  He shook his head no, rolled his eyes, and smiled.

  Grabbing a pair of jeans out of his pack, Dave walked behind the garage. I changed into my last clean bra and shirt while he was gone. My leather jacket was a total loss, but would do until I could find a replacement. When he returned we cleaned and collected our gear. Dave offered me a roll of heavy-duty black duct tape to patch my jacket with.

  We headed towards Lock Haven both of us looking up as much as forward. I asked, “How are you feeling?”

  “Better, not 100 percent, but better, I’m going to need to feed again soon,” he replied.

  With a primal grin, I said, “All the more reason to drop in on Greg’s friends, don’t you think?”

  As we walked down the road, I said, “So why were you sneaking around on my floor at the Davron Group the night before the world went ass up?”

  My voice dripping with hostility. I figured out where I’d seen him before. “No more fucking bullshit half answers either!”

  Dave stopped short, and stared at me for a moment. Sighing, he said, “I wasn’t expecting you to come back from dinner so soon. Society on a global scale was dissolving faster than any of us ever expected it to. Even the Lazarus Group was unprepared for the speed of the decay. The United States, as well as the rest of the world’s governments were no different. I wanted to give you the best chance to survive I could. I prayed you wouldn’t be turned, but I knew if you did you’d need help understanding what had happened to you.”

  I added, “Or I’d be easier to sanction if I turned out to be a monster?”

  He paused and nodded, “Think about it Ashleigh, we are stronger, faster, and more resilient than any normal human. We’re basically super-human now. Think of how dangerous this could be in the wrong hands. It could be used to hurt a lot of people. It needs to be controlled. I tried to be there for you, but the destruction of society happened much too fast.”

  As we passed by a large piece of plywood with a spray painted “N” and a right-facing arrow, Dave interrupted his story, “We’re getting close to enemy territory, and need to focus on our mission. We can talk later, I’ll tell you what I know then.”

  56

  “Are you in place?” Dave whispered through my earbud. I pressed the button on the throat mic he had given me. “Affirmative.”

  “Okay, observe and catalog hostiles, non-combatants, and assets, we’ll meet back at the police station at 6:30.” I clicked the mic twice in understanding.

  I was 60 feet up in an abandoned factory building tower. I had no idea what the tower’s previous use was, but it made a great vantage point to survey the National Guard Depot. Resting my binoculars on the window ledge, I swept them back and forth across the compound again. The window was caked with grime, and I left it that way, except for the two uneven spots I cleaned for the binoculars Dave lent me.

  The Depot was small, just four buildings. Three in an L-shape in the front with a large, brick and corrugated steel warehouse-type building making up the back of the complex. A couple of tall antenna masts and a flag pole sprouted up to the left of main personnel entrance of the warehouse. The red positioning lights on the masts were dark. Various vehicles lined the paved parking lot between the buildings and the warehouse, including one that had to be the Bradley Fighting Vehicle Greg had mentioned. A twelve-foot chain link fence, topped with razor wire, filled in the gaps between the buildings.

  I watched as two guards lazily patrolled the roof of the building by the main gate, while another sat in an office chair on the roof of the warehouse, a scoped rifle across his knees. There was a pole-mounted spotlight at the interior edge of the warehouse roof. Since I hadn’t heard any generators, I wasn’t sure if it worked. I watched as two women, naked except for shoes and covered in bruises, huddled together in the early May chill as they rolled a cart loaded with small paper bags and soft drinks to the men around the complex. The men accepted the bags and drinks, with most molesting the women as they did.

  More than once, I heard a woman cry out in pain from the attention the men were giving them. I silently told myself these bastards had to die.

  I watched for a while longer, and then got up and checked the barricade I had built about a quarter of the way up the winding staircase. It was more to alert me that someone, or something, was coming up the stairs rather than to keep them out.

  I returned to my loft and settled down on the floor for a nap, using my jacket and backpack as a pillow. Our encounter with the Hooker zombies left me incredibly tired. I set my watch alarm to vibrate at 4:00 pm, just over three hours from now, closed my eyes and fell asleep immediately.

  57

  My watch buzzed three times on my wrist. I opened my eyes but didn’t move, letting my senses tell me what was going on around me. Hearing and feeling nothing out of the ordinary, I slowly stood up and stretched as far as my 5’7” frame would reach. I smiled as I remembered how my boyfriend, Christian, used to joke I must have been a cat in a past life because I loved to stretch so much. I hoped he was okay and I could see him again, I sent my thoughts westward.

  I smiled as I remembered how I met Christian. It was the summer of 2000, and I was curious about the moving van that was parked out in front of the Lewis’ old house. My brother was so much older than me, and our neighborhood was not overflowing with a bumper-crop of children. I stood there staring at the big truck’s open cargo door I silently prayed a girl my age would be my new neighbor.

  My mom caught me staring out our front window at the moving van, and said with a smile, “You know Ash, it would be much more polite to go introduce yourself and invite our new neighbors over for dinner. Tell them we’ll have the grill going any time after 6:30.”

  I nodded, slightly embarrassed that I had been caught spying on our new neighbors.

  As I walked down the sidewalk, I was mentally crossing my fingers that a 10-year-old girl would answer the door. Dodging the moving men, I approached the open front door. A pretty blonde woman stepped out the front door and to the side.

  “That one goes in the far back bedroom.”

  She did a double-take as she saw me standing there, and offered me a warm smile.

  “Well, you Tucson girl scouts don’t waste any time here do you?”

  I must have had the completely perplexed look on my face, because she laughed, and continued, “I’m sorry Darling, I’m Laura Everett, a pleasure to meet you.” as she approached and stuck out her hand.

  I shook her offered hand and said, “Pleased to meet you, ma’am; I’m Ashleigh Rhodes, your neighbor,” as I pointed to my house.

  “My mom asked me to come over and introduce myself and to let you know your family is welcome to join us for dinner. Mom says the grill will be on after 6:30,” all in one breath.

  Just then, I saw a tall, lanky boy about my age, with a mop of brown hair exit the front door, saying, “Mom, can I get some iced tea, it’s so hot here.”

  His head snapped to the right as he realized he was not alone with his mom, AND I was a girl.

  “Christian, this is Ashleigh Rhodes, our new neighbor. Ashleigh, this is my son Christian.” With the pent up nervous energy all pre-teen boys seem to have, he approached me and shook my hand. “Please to meet you, Ashleigh.”

  Just then a large, powerful looking bald man exited the house. He placed his arm around Laura and then smiled at me.

  “Well, hello there, honey, how are you doing?”

  “I’m doing well Mr. Everett, thank you for asking,”

  With a large, kind smile he said, “Wow, such a polite girl, I like that.”

  Laura added, “Ashleigh dear, this is my husban
d, Allan. Allan this is our neighbor, Ashleigh Rhodes. Her folks have invited us all to dinner at their home any time after 6:30.”

  Allan’s smile got even bigger, and he said, “That is very kind, we’ll see you then if we can get this moving van unpacked,” as he motioned to Christian to head to the moving truck.

  Christian sighed dejectedly, never having got his iced tea, and moved towards the truck.

  Laura saw this and said, “Christian, go get some iced tea, then head back to the truck. Ashleigh, would you like some tea?”

  I replied, “No, thank you, Mrs. Everett, I have to head home to let my mom know we’ll be having guests for dinner. If it’s okay with you, have Christian bring a bathing suit. It was a pleasure meeting y'all.”

  I still love to tease him about how red his face was at the thought of a girl wanting to swim with him.

  58

  I spent the next two hours observing our quarry, making notes on them. The more I watched them, the more I wanted to rush in there and tear these bastards into bloody little pieces. Around 6:00 pm, I packed up my gear and made my way down the stairs to my impromptu barricade. Instead of disassembling it, I just vaulted the railing and dropped the last 10 feet to the floor.

  I quietly retraced my steps back to the town’s police station. I used the alleys behind the surrounding buildings to avoid most of the zombies and all the humans along the way, arriving at the turn of the 19th-century building just before 6:30.

  The back door opened as I approached, and Dave waved me in briskly. He shut the door quickly, but quietly.

  “Sorry to spook you, but we have company out front,” he said in apology.

  “Alive or dead? I asked.

  “Both, it looks like a scavenger group from the Depot got caught with their pants down. From what I heard, they took heavy casualties before getting themselves trapped in the old diner across the street.” Dave explained as he motioned me to follow him up the back stairs of the station to the second-floor windows that overlooked the diner.

  The diner made a better sanctuary than I had thought it would. While it was obviously wider and longer than a real dining car, it still maintained the classic dining car look and was even on a raised platform to simulate the height of a train car.

  The defenders had parked a small box truck in front of the stairs blocking access from the zombie invaders. The switchback handicap ramp was open for use, but it made the Georges that used it easy pickings. Within a few minutes, the ramp was blocked with zombie corpses.

  With daylight savings time officially over, the early darkness of spring in the Northeastern United States blanketed the area. You never realize how much ambient light a civilized society generates until it’s gone. With our enhanced eyesight, there was still enough light for us to see well over 200 Georges surrounding the diner.

  Georges were a minor threat one on one, but a formidable foe en-masse – to humans at least. I watched a lone Hunter pace back and forth behind the large herd of Georges, the men in the diner ignorant to its presence. Given their affinity for hunting in packs, it was odd to see a solo Hunter, but not unheard of.

  We watched a commotion escalate by the front door of the diner. It was dark enough for Dave to crack open a window to hear the dialogue.

  “No, Please, no guys, you can’t do this!” said a bearded, long-haired man in jeans and Harley Davidson t-shirt, as four men pushed him out the door.

  “Sorry Al, you’ve been bit, you gotta go.” said a bodiless voice from inside the diner.

  Al yelled “I told you assholes, I tore my hand on the van door, I didn’t git bit! Let me in, and keep a gun to my head for God’s sake!”

  The Georges’ moaning hit a fever pitch as Al turned to look for an escape path off the diner’s front stoop. The pacing Hunter forced its way through the bumbling Georges, around the van, then launched itself at Al.

  In the darkness, Al sensed more than saw the creature hurtling towards him. He screamed as the large, agile zombie knocked him to the ground. He screamed louder as the Hunter sank teeth and nails into his vulnerable flesh.

  We watched the Hunter work with brutal efficiency eviscerating Al on the top step of the diner. As the Hunter fed, a rifle barrel slid out a diner window next to the zombie and fired a single point-blank shot. At this range the round caused the creature’s head to disappear in a cloud of skull, brain matter, and black blood. The headless Hunter fell forward on Al’s remains, never knowing what hit it.

  We heard someone in the diner say “I guess he didn’t get bit, oops.” followed by group laughter. I shook my head that assholes like this survived when so many good people had not.

  Moving away from the window I whispered, “How many guys made it into the diner?” “With Al gone, there’s only four left,” he replied. “With only Shufflers left outside now, I think we might be able to sneak in the back of the diner.”

  I shook my head in the negative and said, “It might be okay for you, not for me.” Dave looked at me with a puzzled expression on his face.

  I explained, “Hunters – Speed Demons, will feed on Georges if they cannot find other food sources. Georges treat me like they do Hunters. A single George will move away from me, but a group like that will become agitated, loud, and very aggressive around me. Most don’t have enough strength to actually hurt me, but they will try. I think it’s a scent thing, they see me as a predator.”

  Dave was a little stunned at my news, “I knew Demons - Hunters, fed on the others, but didn’t know about how they reacted to you. Okay, we need a new plan. By the way, why do you call them George?”

  I smiled and said “I call the slow ones George, after the old zombie movie director. My brother and Dad loved those movies.”

  He laughed and said, “That’s hilarious. I love it. I think you’re right, it is a scent thing. Georges ignore me since they think of me as one of them, unless I speak, fire a gun, or do something else un-zombie like. They lose interest once they get closer. The other ones will attack, as we have already seen.”

  We were in the middle of concocting a new plan of attack on the Diner when we heard a deep rumble from the other side of town. Moving back to the windows, we both looked left just in time to see the far end of the diner’s street set aglow with artificial light. Even though we couldn’t see it yet, the noise told us the Bradley Fighting Vehicle was headed our way. A short time later we watched the big vehicle as it turned the corner and headed towards the diner.

  At the halfway point between the turn and the diner, the cannon on the Bradley opened fire. 25mm rounds slammed into the horde, each round shredding multiple zombies along its flight path. As the Bradley got closer, the operators switched to the machine gun mounted next to the cannon. The 7.62 rounds quickly cleared a path to the door. As the Bradley pulled closer to the diner, the men inside came out to meet it.

  “Thanks for the save!” said a tall, fat man with a huge beard.

  “Whatever, Chet says your haul had better be worth the ammo or your asses are toast,” replied a small, blonde, mousey man with glasses as he exited the Bradley’s command seat.

  Dave moved away from the window and went into his pack. He unwrapped the cellophane on a small block of a clay-like substance and grabbed something that looked like a small stopwatch. He quickly ripped off a third of the block, then rewrapped and stuffed the unused part back in his pack. He kneaded the remaining piece for a minute before sticking the large pin on the back of the stopwatch into it.

  Playing with the buttons on the stopwatch, Dave said “I was going to do this at the Depot as a diversion, but now seems just as good a time as then. Wait here and cover me, I’ll be right back. Oh, cover up when you see me again.” He crept down the back stairs as silently as the darkness itself.

  I carefully moved back to the window to watch the men below. While the other men were mopping up the remaining Georges, the mousey man and the bearded man were arguing at the van’s open roll-up door.

  “I know we don’t have
shit now, but everything was fine until you put a couple giant fucking rounds through the fucking van, killing three fine pieces of ass and splattering their guts all over the food and supplies.” bellowed the big man.

  The mousey guy looked unconvinced and unfazed by the big man’s bluster.

  “Sorry, Ricky, I’m afraid it will still come out of your share.”

  I watched as Ricky moved closer to try to intimidate the smaller man with his size and aggressive appearance. The smaller man let out a curt laugh and turned away.

  He spoke to everyone, “Salvage what you can, we’ll have the women clean everything. Let’s get out of here before we attract any more attention.”

  With a lot of cursing and some barfing, the men grabbed the blood and tissue soaked supplies out of the van, moving them into the Bradley through the open rear hatch. The mousey man climbed back into the command seat as the last of the diner men piled into the back of the vehicle. The driver started the engine, and the ramp began to close.

  As the ramp passed the halfway mark, Dave shot out of the adjoining alley at an inhuman speed. Without breaking stride, he tossed the explosive inside the vehicle and kept on running. I instinctively crouched down, closed my eyes, covered my ears, and opened my mouth as I waited for the blast.

  I felt the shockwave a nanosecond before I heard the amazingly loud WHOOMPH of the explosion. The windows around me imploded and rained a thousand shards of glass down on me and the rest of room. As the explosion dissipated, I shook my head rid my hair of glass and to try to reduce the ringing in my ears. I waited about a minute before I stood up to survey the damage.

  The Bradley was lying on its left side on top of Ricky’s van. The right rear side of the vehicle was almost gone; the door ramp had been ripped off and thrown back down the street. I could tell the inside of the vehicle was a charnel pit of body parts and gore, and was glad the low light conditions hid most of the details. I couldn’t see the Bradley’s driver from my position, but the gunner was in a lifeless heap up against the diner’s front fascia. Amazingly, the mousey little man was still alive. He was not unscathed by any means. As he rolled around on the ground, blood flowed from his eyes, nose, ears, and mouth, and his right leg was in bad shape.