The Roaming (Book 2): The Toll

by Hegarty, W. J.

  “If it’s any consolation, well, he wasn’t a very pleasant man. I think you’ll agree,” Lancaster said as a quick aside, downplaying Seth’s death.

  Marisol thumped Lancaster in the stomach with the butt of her rifle, not once but twice, before throwing the weapon to the ground. He doubled over as she brought a knee up to his face, smashing his nose. The man stumbled backward before losing balance and falling onto his back, landing hard against the unforgiving pavement. She quickly straddled the man, pinning him to the ground before furiously landing blow after blow upon his face. “I’ll fucking kill you, you piece of shit!” she yelled at the nearly unconscious man.

  Lancaster’s head rolled left and right, in sync with the former sheriff’s continuous barrage of punches. Curious onlookers gathered around, not one interceding. If she killed the man, so be it. This had been a long time coming, which seemed to be the consensus.

  Samantha burst forth from the crowd, crying, arms flailing. “Why isn’t anyone stopping this?” she yelled, slapping her hands against her thighs. “Markus, do something!” she pleaded, but the man lowered his head before turning away from the scene altogether. “You’re killing him!” Samantha pawed at Marisol’s arms. She tried desperately to pull the madwoman off of Lancaster.

  Marisol was off of the man in a flash. Hands at Samantha’s throat, she had the girl pinned against a truck, fist raised and prepared to strike. Samantha went quiet. Tears streamed from ever-widening eyes.

  “Hey!” Markus yelled from the crowd as he approached.

  Marisol lowered her fist but did not break eye contact with the frightened girl.

  “You were killing him,” Samantha whimpered.

  “Maybe, maybe not.” Marisol let go of Samantha and continued. “That man will not disrespect Seth’s memory in my presence.” She pointed to the bloodied man who finally began to stir. “Seth was one of the few contributing to keeping this group alive. Lancaster, piece of shit that he is, does nothing to help. He’s a drain on resources and a burden to morale.” She yanked Lancaster to his feet and shoved him away. “Get out of here.” Marisol knelt beside Seth’s corpse. His covering was bunched up and pushed aside during the fracas. She tucked the corners back under him again, wrapping the sheet tightly around his form. “Sam, you mind giving me a hand here?” she asked, wrapping her arms around Seth’s lower legs.

  “Where are we going, darling?” Sam replied. He got a good grip on Seth’s torso, and they were upright.

  “We don’t have a shovel, thanks to the hasty retreat from the cabin, but we can at least get him off the road. Over there should be good, in the woods, just out of sight under that big fir,” she suggested.

  “That’s the last of them, sir. Nothing’s moving out there.” Rachel took a seat in the bed of Bernie’s truck. “If any of them got away, they’re long gone by now.”

  “Well done. Rachel, I want you and the rest of the unit on the perimeter until we’re Oscar Mike. I’m sure all this noise will attract carriers to our location. Stay sharp, people,” Miller ordered as he eyed the weary group. “Make yourself useful, Lancaster. Every corpse you see without a hole in its head, you put one in it. Don’t forget to collect weapons and ammo while you’re out there, too,” Miller told Lancaster as he shoved a pistol into the man’s chest.

  Lancaster stumbled away, wide-eyed and obviously frightened. “Well, I’ve never even fired a weapon before. Would you care terribly much to share some advice, young man?” Lancaster fumbled nervously with the gun.

  “Learn fast. Here’s the only advice you’re going to get from me, old man. Stay away from Marisol and keep your goddamn mouth shut. Now get going,” said Miller. “And one more thing. If I even think you’re raising that weapon toward Marisol or anyone else in the group, you’ll be dead before you finish the thought. Isaac, why don’t you take a duffel out there and collect any weapons he finds. We wouldn’t want the good mayor hurting himself, now would we?” Miller added with a smile.

  “Yeah. Yeah, that’s a good idea, sir.” Isaac didn’t have much to say. The shock of what just happened right before his eyes, the slaughter he took part in, weighed heavily on the man.

  Radzinski tossed an empty bag to Isaac. “God forbid something happens to Lancaster. That would really be a tragedy, wouldn’t it?”

  “Why bother shooting all those assholes in the head? We’re out of here, anyway,” Damon asked. “Weren’t you the one adamant that we shouldn’t bother making sure Tobias and his kid didn’t come back?”

  “That was different. There’re a lot of bodies out there, man.” Radzinski kicked a dead biker. “This stretch of road will end up being a deathtrap for anyone else that comes by looking for a place to hole up.”

  “So. It won’t be us.”

  “You’re cold, kid. Can’t say I totally disagree, but you’re fucking cold.”

  Miller and Jeremiah were surveying the scene from the driveway of the ruined house. An abandoned vehicle blocked them from casual glances.

  “Every move we make, something is jumping out at us.” Miller was clearly frustrated. “We can’t even take a goddamn break to let these people find their bearings and rest. Just a few hours is all I ask.” Miller laid his rifle on the roof of the car with force. He kneed the driver’s side door, leaving a considerable dent. He turned to face Jeremiah as he repeatedly stretched his fingers and balled them back into fists. “We can’t keep going like this, Jerry. The road’s going to take every one of them.” Miller nodded toward the civilians gathering weapons from the dead. He watched as Nisha fumbled with an armful of rifles. She dropped one, then kicked it farther away as she bent to retrieve it.

  We don’t need seven more rifles, he thought. Just the ammo. How in the hell were the civilians supposed to know that unless otherwise told? They were trying. Shit, they were trying as best as they could, but he knew that unless he and the handful of soldiers and Marisol gave them constant pointers, the lot of them were in for a long, tough haul.

  “More wounded, one more dead, and Isabelle has clearly checked out,” Jeremiah added.

  “She spoke to you?” Miller asked.

  “No, she didn’t say a word to me. Nothing of import, anyway. She was the only one around as I tried to help Seth, and I had to almost beg her to help me hold him down.”

  “That’s a start. It’s something, right?”

  “It’s not what you think. Isabelle didn’t help me for Seth’s sake. I believe she wanted to watch him bleed out.”

  “Are you sure?” Miller asked with a sigh.

  “Not entirely. I suppose there’s a chance I could be wrong, though I highly doubt it,” Jeremiah replied. “Then there’s Marisol. Sooner or later, she is going to kill Lancaster. The carriers are a constant menace, the hermit at the cabin, now a gang. This route grows more precarious every step of the way, Miller.”

  “I’ve noticed, and in light of that, not to mention our dwindling food situation, I’ve made a decision no one’s going to like. We’re driving straight through, no more stops. We can’t be more than twelve hours tops from the Outer Banks, and there will be more marinas there than we’ll know what to do with. We’ll finally find a boat and get off this goddamned road.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The Emerald Star

  Darkness slowly gave way to dawn. The sun’s first rays burned away the night’s dew, revealing previously hidden threats. Shadows danced between the trees more frequently. There was no doubt they had left the mostly rural portion of their trek behind. Carrier sightings increased the closer they came to civilization. Longleaf Bay lay before them, just across the bridge. The small ocean community lay in ruins, no doubt destroyed in the chaos and confusion of its inhabitants’ hasty escape.

  They arrived just before dawn. The caravan was parked at the northern side of the bridge leading into town and the marina. The expanse itself was barren except for a few newspapers and empty plastic bottles blowing in the wind. Feral dogs gnawed at a corpse lying in the street toward the ot
her end of the bridge. Seventy-five yards from the stopped vehicles, a lone car sat in the dead center of the span. A handful of others dotted the structure. What was once a peaceful beach getaway had devolved into, at best, a ghost town. At worst, it was another death trap.

  Longleaf Bay itself couldn’t have taken up more than a quarter square mile. Even that modest acreage managed to house hundreds of buildings of all description. A wall of waterfront condos greedily obscured the best views of the bay and the Atlantic not far to the east. In its prime, the large marina was home to hundreds of docked boats. It also played host to frequent large gatherings. Just south of the bridge, now reduced to shambles, the marina hosted less than twenty boats. Most appeared to be in various states of disrepair. The boathouses, shops, and condos in the immediate vicinity didn’t fare much better; they bore the stress of months of chaos and looting.

  Burnt-out buildings were all that remained of the town proper. Hundreds of ruined, charred husks made up the city. Acres of trees in all directions were blackened, their foliage burned to the dirt. Everything in Longleaf Bay was burned black save for the marina. Somehow, it was spared. The road that adjoined the bridge, in conjunction with an intersecting highway just south, was all that separated the blackened trees from the town, the large stretch of pavement no doubt acting as a firebreak.

  All that remained were the undead, many of them as black as the buildings. They scurried around the ruined town, their charred bodies afforded the beasts excellent camouflage. Hundreds of them meandered about in an endless search for food, their only prey fled long ago. Some merely stood in place, perhaps in wait for those unlucky or foolish enough to find themselves trapped in this ghost town. Others wandered about, aimlessly bumping into those with apparent purpose. A carrier would approach a locked door with what supposed experts could only assume was a sense of instinct. A sliver of memory perhaps would compel the beast to turn the handle in an attempt to gain entrance. They would continue like this for hours, sometimes days, before something else would grab their attention and urge them along their way.

  The undead were kept at arm’s length. A barricade of sorts had been erected on the city side of the bridge. Vans, moving trucks, and other large vehicles were lined up across its span, denying the ghouls access to the bridge and trapping them in town.

  Jeremiah lay on the roof of an abandoned car at the center of the bridge. The vantage point wasn’t ideal, but it was the highest location they had easy access to. Even still, it gave him a wide perspective of the downtown and marina areas. He was intrigued by the carriers’ behavior. It fascinated him to watch their ranks swell around a perpetually locked door; within minutes, the original would be blocked from view by throngs of undead automatons. Down by the water’s edge, others made their way to the docks, clumsily walking off the piers to disappear beneath the dark water. Like with the door, others would follow suit until none remained on that particular dock.

  Each morning since they began their journey, Jeremiah spent the predawn hours studying his surroundings. This morning proved exceptionally fruitful. Studying these beasts was vital for the group’s survival, even if no one else recognized it. Jeremiah mentioned he noticed during his morning research that a possible carrier was trapped in one of the cars near the summit of the bridge. Miller sent Soraya back up there with him to be sure before the group got any closer to town. The duo approached the car, its windows opaque with grime and blood. Jeremiah signaled that he would open the door. Soraya stood at the ready, her kukri trained on the filthy window. The door swung open, causing the soldiers to take a step back as they were engulfed in a cloud of wretched stench. A withered, nearly naked corpse slowly slid from the vehicle and desperately clawed at the soldiers’ feet. They slowly backed off. Jeremiah kept his rifle aimed at the lone carrier’s head. At a snail’s pace, it pulled itself along the concrete on its belly. The carrier could only go so far, as its left foot was bent backward, trapped under the driver’s seat. The thing was stuck; it could only move from side to side and just barely. The rough ground scraped the creature’s flesh off down to the bone, where its elbows, knees, and hip bones met the unforgiving concrete. Jeremiah held up one finger for the benefit of those back at the caravan.

  Miller returned an affirmative reply. Behind him, standing in a semicircle around the back of the caravan, Rachel, Marisol, Isaac, Aiko, and Sam watched the perimeter. Most of the remainder of the group hung out by the vehicles. Some wandered up near the bridge for a better view of the water.

  “Grab that ax, would you?” Miller said to Radzinski. “Let’s go.”

  “You got it, boss,” Radzinski replied sarcastically.

  “Mind if we tag along?” Vanessa approached. Lillian followed closely behind. “It doesn’t look like there’s much going on up there.”

  “I don’t see why not,” Miller replied, quickly scanning back and forth.

  “God, I haven’t seen the water in ages,” Lillian commented.

  “Just stay a few feet behind us, and if I say so, run your asses back to the cars as fast as you can,” Miller added.

  The girls followed Miller up the bridge and toward its apex. With ammunition low following an impromptu shootout, edged and blunt weapons were this task’s weapon of choice.

  “Giving tours now, are we?” Radzinski commented. He didn’t wait for a response, nor did he want one. Miller wasn’t about to risk losing his cool in front of the civilians, and Radzinski knew it. These little jabs simply amused him.

  Lillian leaned in a little more closely to the trapped beast than anyone including her expected. She had never seen one up close like this before. Its shriveled skin was bunched up around its thighs and shoulder blades. It had sat for who knew how long in that car. The thing could barely raise its head. When it did, an arm shot out quicker than any of them anticipated, its bony, claw-like hand scraping less than a foot from Lillian’s leg. The carrier’s proximity to her and the others almost seemed to give the thing a boost of energy, apparent in the sudden lunge. Lillian stepped back, not about to test her luck any further.

  “Fascinating,” Jeremiah commented.

  “Come again,” Radzinski asked.

  “For the last ten minutes, it lay there, barely moving or making a sound. The girl steps closer than the rest of us, and suddenly it has the strength for an attack.”

  “Yeah, we’ve seen it before. You get close, they fuck you up. No need to overthink this, Doc.”

  “Merely an observation. If we study them and learn to predict their movements, the results could save lives.”

  “Just one, alone out here?” Lillian asked.

  “Look, she has claw marks all over her back!” Vanessa commented excitedly. “She must have got away from one of these things and locked herself in the car. Poor thing probably took days to die in that oven.” She wiped her brow as if witnessing this thing’s fate reminded her of her own rising temperature.

  “You think that’s what killed her? Those scratches, I mean?” Lillian asked.

  “I would posit that the woman died of dehydration while attempting to wait them out,” Jeremiah said. “The temperature in that car must have reached one hundred fifty degrees during the day. Windows aren’t even cracked. No air circulation would have made it difficult to breathe. When she finally stopped moving after a few days or so with no water, the carriers likely lost interest and moved on. Sometime after that, she turned. Speculation, of course. Horrible way to go nonetheless.”

  “This thing is pathetic. It can barely even move.” Radzinski teased the creature with his boot, nudging it in the ribs.

  “Radzinski!” Miller shouted.

  “Alright, alright. Jesus.” Radzinski raised the ax and swung mightily, splitting the creature’s head in two. Syrupy blood and brains oozed from the pie-shaped gash. The creature, or whoever it used to be, was finally at peace.

  Upon further inspection, every alleyway in Longleaf Bay that Miller could reach with the binoculars was clogged, stacked at least ten
feet high with junked cars, dumpsters, or anything that could act as a heavy blockade. For all intents and purposes, the town was sealed off. Barring some fool plowing headlong through one of the blockades, those things were trapped inside and couldn’t get to anyone out of city limits. A shame the previous residents didn’t leave signs making it as apparent.

  “Jerry, I want you and Soraya to check out the eastern marina. This is a big area and we need to know what kind of numbers we’re dealing with before we commit to a search. Get Sam to give you a lift and take Isaac or Marisol with you,” said Miller.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Rachel, take Radzinski and Markus. I want you to circle around the highway. Come up behind the southern marina. Surveillance only. Keep your distance. Don’t engage unless absolutely necessary.”

  “Roger that. Be back in thirty minutes tops.”

  Casandra lay in the back seat of one of the larger SUVs. Aiko recommended that she stay off her feet and remain as still and calm as possible for at least a few days. Casandra would be fine. As it turned out, the gunshot wound wasn’t as bad as it looked, but the added stress on top of the blood loss and malnutrition could turn into an issue for the baby. Bernie cracked the windows. What little air circulated helped immensely, but it wasn’t enough. Eventually, she won him over, and reluctantly Bernie opened a door, but only the one at her feet, directly across from where someone stood watch. Beads of sweat formed on her chest, forehead, and upper lip. Anywhere exposed skin remained undisturbed by clothes or touch beaded up. Her white blouse was drenched with it. Bernie removed her shoes to let her feet breathe. He dabbed her forehead with a damp cloth he’d dipped into the bay. With his pampering and the open door, she hadn’t felt this good since before she was shot.

  “Can you wiggle your fingers for me?” Bernie asked.

  “Yeah, it hurts,” she managed, dancing her digits along Bernie’s forearm.