Toward the Brink (Book 3)

by McDonough, Craig A.

  The demeanor inside the motor home became somber. The fear of foamers had begun to affect them more than the foamers themselves; when they were surrounded by the bastards, they were too occupied staying alive to be scared. Well, at least they weren’t too scared.

  Chuck stood and made his way to the front, next to Mulhaven. “Flash your lights until Elliot and Tristan acknowledge us, okay?”

  The drivers ahead had been told to check their mirrors frequently for such a signal. It was part of their plan to stop before they entered or drove through (formerly) inhabited areas.

  Elliot ahead in the Hummer stepped on the brakes once, twice, three times in quick succession. He had seen the flash of the headlights.

  “Let Elliot find a spot along the road to stop, then pull up behind. Put your running lights on for David behind us.”

  The Tall Man came back to explain to the others. “We’ll need to change some personnel around to get a bit more firepower in the front as well as the back. I hope we don’t need it, but it’s better to be safe.”

  Puffs of dust burst from the rear of the Hummer and then the Ram 3500 as Elliot and Tristan pulled over to the side on a straight section of the Yellowhead Highway. Mulhaven eased behind and watched as David pulled the bus to a stop but left it, sensibly, on the asphalt.

  The Tall Man bounded out the back of the motor home with the anticipation of action.

  Kath knew there were more towns to go through between here and Prince Rupert. She was concerned about how they would manage if they have to go through this every time.

  “We won’t have to worry about foamers,” Kath reminded herself as she gazed out the window. “Our hearts will give in long before then!”

  * * *

  As preparations were made, the unofficial Security Council met at the side of the road. Elliot, the Tall Man, and Mulhaven represented the original Twin Falls Survival Group. Elliot was fond of the moniker, but it was no longer relevant. Kath was added for her survival knowledge and preparedness. As the former commander in chief of the country, it was only natural that Bob would be a part of the group. And where Bob went, so did his former chief of staff, Tom Transky, who was instrumental in the development many of President Elias R. Charles’s security policies. Chess and Tristan, from the group that had come in—and survived—with Holmes and Etheridge, also found themselves a symbolic seat at the table.

  The Tall Man was still wary of Chess. If he wasn’t on the straight and narrow with them, then the Tall Man knew his kind and what they were capable of. Do and say all the right things, even go out of their way to win you over. Just when you think they’re not as bad as you thought—BAM! You find yourself face down in a ditch somewhere with most of your brains in a pulpy mess beside you. But he had to admit Chess knew his shit, was well trained, and had combat experience, and that was what they needed. He hadn’t done anything to warrant suspicion. If they could get to a safe haven, then they would need Chess and the other troops from the transport plane. The Tall Man would keep him close, as Sun Tzu recommended. If and when the time came, he would deal with Chess then. Chess had started out the wrong way, or perhaps the Tall Man had put up defensive barriers too soon. Either way, Chess seemed to understand that his future lay with the group, and that he would do best to work with them and not against. The Tall Man certainly hoped this was the case; he had to admit—albeit only to himself—that he’d started to like Chess.

  Maybe I’m just getting old.

  “What’s the population of this town?”

  “Not sure, Chuck. Do you know, Kath?”

  Straight through town without stopping; that was the plan. Knowledge the population level would give them a rough idea of what they might expect in terms of human resistance. There never was enough time to determine of the percentage of survivors versus foamers, but the Tall Man believed, based on what he’d witnessed, it was extremely low.

  “The last time I checked, it was over four thousand. Has a wide main street, which will allow us access all the way through. Or should.” Kath, like the Tall Man, thought that abandoned cars could cause a problem.

  “Missoula is a lot bigger than that, and there were very few left there, so a town of four thousand should be barren.”

  “My thoughts as well, Riley.” The Tall Man ended the meeting. “Okay, Elliot, I’ll ride with you in the Hummer. Riley, stay close to us, and Chess, you ride in the bus with David, but don’t tell Allan you’ve replaced him as co-driver. Stay within fifty yards of Riley. Tristan, you stay right behind the bus, okay?”

  Chess nodded and walked toward the bus, with Tristan right behind him headed for the Ram 3500. “You there, come with me,” the Tall Man called to one of the soldiers on guard by the bus. He wanted a man armed with an M4 up front in the Hummer.

  “What’s your name, soldier?” The Tall Man only bothered with names when he needed to know them.

  “I’m Johnny, sir,” the soldier said, a little too enthusiastically for the Tall Man.

  “Chuck. Just call me fuckin’ Chuck. Now jump in.”

  He continued to take soldiers from the C-17 and split them up; some here, some there. If Chess was a team player, he wouldn’t care—but if he wasn’t, this would weaken his support base, and this was how they would discover it. So far, Chess hadn’t questioned him.

  Within thirty seconds of the last word spoken at the roadside conference, all were back in the vehicles, prepared to run the first gauntlet of the day. Elliot looked forward to a more settled existence on Graham Island, regardless of how cold it might get. He shared the same outlook as his aunt; he believed their nerves would give out before the foamers got them if this continued much longer.

  Elliot drove the Hummer into the widened section of Yellowhead Highway as it entered the township. Riley was not far behind, with the bus and the Ram 3500 behind him. As they got into the town proper, their worries eased considerably. It was a ghost town. There were just a few cars on the empty street, the remains of several people, and a mangy few dogs. That was it.

  “Keep going, Elliot, keep going!” the Tall Man urged, his relief evident.

  As the four vehicles exited at one end of town, the sedan driven by Richard Holmes entered at the other.

  “So that’s what their little meeting was about, eh? A discussion on how to proceed through the town?” Holmes speculated correctly. He was as concerned as they were, perhaps more so. He was by himself, and should he come to a town occupied by unfriendlies, he’d have little in the way of bargaining power.

  I could always inform them of the island and the sanctuary it offers. As long as we have control of it. “Hmm, that sounds like a plan.” He smiled when he realized he could still come up with a plan, even during the apocalypse.

  It wasn’t exactly how Holmes had thought it would turn out. He’d wanted to be part of the Chamber and enjoy the fruits of domination in a world devoid of problems caused by overpopulation. He had wanted, and believed he deserved, some recognition. He may just get what he wanted, and it might be the big seat, too. The world was just a little smaller than the Chamber had originally intended—but he was alive, and that had to count for something.

  As long as he was alive, there was a chance. That was how he looked at it.

  He eased his foot off the gas pedal and watched the bus as it disappeared behind the small rise at the end of the main drag through town. The town itself offered no threat at all; not while the sun was out, at any rate. He was comfortable enough to idle along for a few minutes, alone with his thoughts and the empty stores on each side of him. He, like the Tall Man ahead of him, had expected more evidence of humanity, but apart from the few cars, cardboard boxes, and the odd body, there was little evidence to suggest the town had ever been lived in.

  “They must have all escaped before—” He was unsure what to say next, as he had no idea of what they may have experienced. “Well … I guess, before.”

  * * *

  “Pull over, Elliot, I need to check with Kath about when
we’ll hit the next town,” the Tall Man told his younger companion after a few hours of uninterrupted travel along the heavily wooded highway, which offered a picturesque view of how beautiful the world had once been. They’d made good time, uninterrupted by traffic as they were. The previous town of Vanderhoof was a breeze—they weren’t slowed at all. The Tall Man knew they couldn’t expect that at every town they went through. It was his job to keep everyone on their toes.

  “No need.” Elliot handed the map his aunt had given him to the Tall Man.

  The Tall Man nodded to Elliot, who didn’t take his eyes off the road.

  “How long before we hit the next town, then?” Johnny asked from the rear seat.

  “The map says we got a couple of places ahead of us, but Kath’s notes say they’re just names for road or train crossings. The next town is about …” The Tall Man trailed off as he did some quick addition in his head. He took a look at the speedometer on the dash before he answered, “We’ll be there in about fifteen minutes, but the population is only around a thousand. Given those numbers, we should be okay.”

  In fact, they were more than okay. The small convoy of four vehicles traveled uninterrupted for approximately five hours. They passed through several small townships, truck stops, and cafes in that time, and most were mere names on a map and not much else. So desolate were these areas that it would be hard to tell the difference between before and after the plague. They stopped once to change drivers and to give those in the Hummer some relaxation in the motor home. The Tall Man allowed Chess to take the lead in the Hummer. If he had a mind to subvert the order of this group, it wouldn’t be while they journeyed to Prince Rupert. His survival was tied to that of the group, the Tall Man reckoned, and he wouldn’t risk it at the moment.

  The travelers made small talk, particularly in the bus. Most of it was of the getting-to-know-you type; it was all they had to keep their minds off the horrors of the situation. The women shared their interests, while the men talked fishing. Graham Island offered freshwater and saltwater activities for the angler—another reason Tom Transky had sought sanctuary on Graham Island. He’d read about the fishing there on the Internet in his search for a sustainable environment.

  Five minutes out of Terrace, they pulled over on the highway. This town was more than twice the size of Vanderhoof, and the possibility of armed survivors was very real. The Hummer, the motor home, and the Ram 3500 parked at an angle on the asphalt, and the bus slid in behind. Another session of the Security Council was called.

  “This place is a little more spread out than Vanderhoof,” Kath explained. “There’s two bridges to cross over the Skeena River, then another bridge over the railroad tracks. It has a right, then a left ninety-degree turn practically in the center of the town, and that will slow our progress. There’s one more bridge to cross over the Kitsumkalum River, which flows into the Skeena. From there it should be smooth sailing to Prince Rupert.”

  The Tall Man eyed Kath pensively. A practical-minded person, he wasn’t the type to express optimism too often.

  “How about we send the motor home first and then the bus? Might look like less of a threat than the Hummer and the dually,” Chess suggested. The bus contained most of the personnel, and because of that, it was difficult to secure; waving weapons around in a tight spot crowded with people didn’t make for a good defense. Having the bus in front would make it difficult if they got caught in a roadblock; it wouldn’t be able to reverse, and it wouldn’t be making any U-turns in these streets. No matter which way they looked at it, it was a gamble, but so was life.

  “Might be worth a try.” The Tall Man had become impressed with Chess, or at least with the interest he showed. Chuck still hadn’t lost sight of the possibility that Chess, like a fly fisherman, may be playing them.

  “Do you fish, Chess?”

  “No, never had the chance to.”

  “Well, that will change when we get to this island, I’m sure.” The Tall Man hoped, as he moved toward the Hummer, that Chess would become a team player.

  He wasn’t under the illusion that their chances of survival would be any better once they got past the foamer plague. Shelter wouldn’t be a problem, but water and food would be; if either became scarce or unsafe for consumption, they would be in trouble. The elements, too, on Graham Island would be of concern, but with the tenacity and enthusiasm of Elliot, Cindy, and the other younger members of the group, and with Kath’s wind power turbine contraption, they should be able to persevere.

  What concerned the Tall Man most was security. The island itself would offer a natural barrier once cleared of any rogue elements or foamers, but to assume there would never be any visits in the future would be absurd. The Tall Man was also of the opinion, reinforced by the arrival of the others, that there were other survivors out there, some of whom might be well organized and potentially dangerous. He and Mulhaven wouldn’t be around forever to protect or guide the group, and soldiers like Tristan and Chess were obvious choices to assume that responsibility.

  Elliot was the future of the group, if not the leader right now. He had the quality of a leader. In the confrontations they’d faced, he had performed well. He had to—his life depended on it. But he was still young; too young. The Tall Man knew how Elliot thought—that problems (the problems he’d faced in life before the outbreak of foamers) could be reasoned through or dealt with on an intellectual basis. The Tall Man could see the disappointment on Elliot’s face after the armed confrontations. The Tall Man did not take any joy in the taking of a life, even the lives of a bunch of assholes, but it had to be done. Elliot had to learn this if he were to be considered a leader by the others—especially Chess and the other military guys. He would always have a say and be listened to, but it would be some time before he would be thought of as the outright leader of the group unless he showed some steel.

  It would be nice if we all live that long.

  Even if they rode the foamer menace out through the winter months, their chances wouldn’t improve all that much if they didn’t catch a few lucky breaks along the way.

  “Ride with us in the Hummer, Chess.”

  There was just a touch of despondency in the Tall Man’s voice, which Kath noted. She understood more than the others the burden he carried.

  “Sure thing.” Chess followed right along. “Who’s driving?”

  “I am,” Elliot said.

  “It’s better if Elliot drives, Chess. I’ll be alongside in the front, you and Johnny in the back on each window, okay?”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  At first, Terrace looked much the same as Vanderhoof. The streets were deserted, with few reminders that life ever existed here. The majority watched from the windows of the bus as they passed the houses and few stores on the outer edges of town. The stores looked as if they had only closed for the weekend. No cars, no trash, and no barking dogs.

  Dogs. The thought of dogs brought horrific scenes to Allan’s mind as he recalled the last moments of his friend—everyone’s friend—Roger Grigsby. He got out of the seat next to David and went further back into the bus; some conversation with Samantha would do him a world of good. The others, too, engaged in conversation; anything to keep their minds occupied.

  When they got closer to the center of town, things changed. The streets were bare save for a few cars, just like in Vanderhoof, but they had the look of being parked—not abandoned. The street itself, as Kath had said, wasn’t as wide. Elliot didn’t notice, as he was more concerned with any tight spots that might cause a jam. The others did. The soldiers and the Secret Service agents more than the rest. They were sure the others in the Hummer and motor home could see it as well.

  “Shit. All the stores are boarded up or sealed. Do you think they did that to keep foamers out? Or looters, maybe?”

  “Hard to say, Elliot, but there doesn’t seem to be the damage or carnage on the streets associated with foamers.”

  “Whatever the reason for it, it appears or
ganized, like store owners do when there’s a major riot.” Chess also felt the discomfort.

  The Tall Man wanted to stop the motorcade and turn back, but it was too late now. The bus made a right turn on the highway that would take them onto the bridge over the train tracks, then it would be one more left turn and straight ahead—out of the city limits.

  One more turn … just one more fucking turn! The Tall Man clenched his jaw tight.

  Elliot drove close behind the bus as it went over the bridge.

  “Holy shit!” Elliot slammed his foot on the brake pedal as the motor home and the bus came to a sudden stop midway across the bridge.

  The Tall Man swallowed hard and gripped the forearm stock of the AR-15 tighter as he heard the rear door of the H-3 Hummer begin to open.

  “No, Chess, wait. Just wait.”

  * * *

  Approximately a mile behind as the highway entered Terrace proper, Richard Holmes sat motionless inside his car. He could no longer see the bus or the other vehicles and wasn’t sure if he should proceed with the hope that those ahead of him had continued without mishap or wait a little longer. It wasn’t so late in the afternoon that he needed to concern himself with foamers—not just yet—but there was something that bothered him.

  The spymaster himself felt spied on. He looked around in an attempt to figure out what unnerved him. That’s when he heard the loudspeaker.

  * * *

  On the bridge over the train tracks—just before the left turn—a line of pickups, four-wheel drives and military Humvees swooped from all directions and blocked the passage ahead. They appeared so suddenly that David, in a knee jerk reaction, slammed his foot on the brakes to avoid hitting the motor home in front of him, even though he probably had enough room. The screech of the tires informed the others behind he wasn’t stopping for a piss.

  “You, the drivers of the vehicles,” a male voice called through a loudspeaker. “Come out with your arms raised—and no fast moves.”