by M. D. Massey
We took the mule and cart around the back of the building, tied the animal up to let it graze, and then brought the kid in through the rear entrance. A thick layer of dust covered most everything, but the clinic had a surgery suite for animals that was still in good condition. Captain Perez had me lay Gabby down on the table, and I helped her remove the kid’s clothing and prep her for surgery. The kid looked a bit better after getting some IV fluids, but she was still in bad shape.
Once everything was ready, Captain Perez told me what was going to happen. “I have to open her up, to make sure she doesn’t have any internal bleeding, and also to remove any bullet fragments that are in there. I’ll need you to stick around in case I need a second pair of hands. You up for this?”
“Doc, I’ve seen my share of battlefield surgery. Let’s just get this over with.” She nodded and we began. It didn’t take long for the doc to find the round. She pulled it out with a pair of forceps and dropped it in a metal emesis pan with a loud ping.
“Now why in the hell would someone shoot another human with a silver bullet?” I wondered aloud.
The look the doc gave me said she knew something I didn’t. “Maybe that’s all he had on him at the time.” I found that hard to believe, because silver was getting harder and harder to come by these days. Lots of people started hoarding it after the War, thinking it was going to be good for trade, which made it difficult to find unless you came across a cache. Turns out, it ended up being pretty valuable, just not for the reasons people thought it would be.
So, I wasn’t buying it. Those punters that were with Pancho Vanilla knew they were chasing humans. Silver rounds were something you only loaded when you thought you were going to be coming up against one of the more powerful occult species, since regular deaders could be taken out with lead bullets. Unless they suspected there might be a rev’ or a nos’ hiding out in the settlement, it didn’t add up.
It looked like someone had taken a pot shot at her through the boat hull, which must have slowed the round enough so it didn’t do any significant damage. The doc said if it’d hit any vital organs then she might not have made it. Mostly what she had was muscle and connective tissue damage, along with a nicked small intestine. In less than an hour she had stitched Gabby back up, and we left her on the table with a fresh wound dressing and another IV bag hanging from the wall.
Just as we got done with Gabby’s surgery, I heard several voices coming from the road that ran in front of the clinic. Whoever it was, they were being loud and apparently didn’t care who heard them. That meant a large group, maybe scavengers, probably punters. If they were scavengers we were screwed, because they’d be sure to check this place for supplies, and not all scavengers were friendly when it came to staking a claim. But if they were punters, well, they’d probably just move along to the Corridor and miss us completely.
I looked at the doc in disbelief. “I thought you said hardly anyone came out this way!” I whispered as I tore off my surgical gloves and mask.
She looked at me with concern in her eyes and pulled her mask off. “Normally, they don’t. I have no idea what would bring someone out here, but whatever it is it can’t be good.”
“I’ll go check it out—just stay here with Gabby, and make sure you lock the back entrance.” I grabbed my rifle and gun belt, and sprinted to the front of the clinic.
FOUR
PARTING
WHEN I GOT TO THE WAITING AREA of the clinic, I put my back to the wall next to the doorway and took a quick look outside. What I saw made my blood boil; it was a large group of punters coming down the road, about a dozen, and they were hauling along a kid of maybe fifteen or sixteen years old. They had him chained to four saddled horses with a collar around his neck. Every so often, one of the horses would get out of sync, and he’d get dragged off his feet. It looked like they’d been at it quite a while.
As they got closer, I could see that the collar was made of thick leather with metal spikes on the inside. The kid had to keep his hands on the collar to keep it from digging into his skin; otherwise every time he got yanked off his feet he’d get stabbed by the spikes. Apparently he’d only been partly successful, because there was dried blood running down his bare chest and arms. He was dressed in an old ratty pair of board shorts, of all things, and his feet were bare. “Poor miserable son of a bitch,” I said under my breath.
As soon as I spoke, the kid’s head swiveled around, almost like a dog listening to a noise in the distance. Then, he looked toward the clinic, and I could swear his eyes locked with mine. I could see the desperation in his eyes, like an animal with its leg caught in a trap that it couldn’t escape.
I heard Captain Perez come up behind me. “Doc, you ever seen something like this before?” I motioned out the window with the barrel of the HK.
She sat still for a moment, surveying the cruelty of the scene before us. Then, she nodded, ever so slightly, as if she didn’t want any part of what was going on out there. “He’s not our concern though. Gabby needs to heal up, and then we’ll move to a more secure location.”
I looked at her like she was the coldest bitch in hell. “You’re shitting me, right? I mean, I’ve seen punters treat people badly, but this—it’s inhumane. You wanna just leave that poor kid like that?”
She shrugged. “Like I said, not our problem. We have other matters to attend to.”
“Oh, so now it’s ‘we.’ Don’t think I’ve forgotten our little conversation from earlier about how you sent Gabby out looking for me. I don’t know what the hell you’re up to, but I intend to get answers from you, and soon.”
She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at me. “You’re going after that kid, aren’t you? I’m telling you not to do it—it’s a mistake you’ll regret.”
Speaking in measured tones to ensure the punters couldn’t hear us, I decided to let the good captain know what I thought about her opinions. “Doc, right now I could give a rat’s flying fart what you think. I came out here for one reason, and that was to get proof of ‘thropes in the Corridor so I could convince the settlements in the safe zones to prepare for an assault. So far all I’ve managed to find is a kid you sent into the Outlands alone to find me, for God only knows what reasons. I don’t know what your game is, but the more time I spend jacking around here, the less time I have to get word back to my people about what’s going on out here in the Corridor.”
She crossed her arms defiantly and gave me a pissy look, gesturing out the window with the bloody rubber surgical glove that was still in her hand. “Alright—if you want proof of ‘thropes hunting the Corridor, I’ll tell you where to find it. It’s walking down the street right in front of you.”
“What do you mean?”
“That kid isn’t human—he’s a lycanthrope. Probably a wolf-type, although it’s hard to tell from here. But since they’re the most common, I’ll just assume that’s the case.”
“And how exactly do you know all this?”
She leaned back against the front counter of the clinic and crossed her arms. “Well, you’ll just have to stick around to find that out, won’t you?”
Obviously, she thought that withholding information from me would keep me around. Instead, it only pissed me off that she was trying to manipulate me. And I had a sneaking suspicion she’d been doing it from the start, from the very moment I met Gabby. Well, I was tired of being played; I was going to do this my way, and get the answers I needed with or without her help. I watched the last of the punters turn the corner, and brushed past her to go pack up my stuff.
She called after me, sotto voce, still concerned that we might bring attention to ourselves by speaking too loud. “Where do you think you’re going? I seriously hope you’re not going after that, that thing.”
I looked back at her as she followed me down the hallway that led to the kennels and treatment rooms. “That ‘thing’ as you call it looks like it’s at least part human—or that it once was. And
if it is what you say it is, then maybe ‘it’ has the answers I’m looking for. So, yeah—I’m going after him.”
The doc grabbed me by the shoulder and spun me around, no mean feat considering the difference in size between us. She looked up at me and got in my face the best she could, standing on tiptoe and poking me in the chest for emphasis. “Before you go trying to rescue that animal you should consider your own kind. Think about what Gabby sacrificed to find you! And now, you’re going to risk your own life and abandon her, all to save some lab animal who’d sooner rip your throat out than look your way twice?”
I just stood there looking at her, not really sure if I even wanted to engage her in this discussion. Her almond eyes bored into mine with conviction as she continued. “Scratch, this is going to sound like the ravings of a lunatic, but hear me out. For the last eight years I’ve been working on a way for humans to fight off the occult species, and I’ve—found—something that could potentially save the human race. But, I need someone I can trust, someone with your skills, to help me put my plan in motion. If you run off and get killed now, I don’t know who else I can get to help me. So, please, I’m begging you to stick around and let this go.”
Now this was just getting weird. Sure, I was curious to know what the captain was up to and what the hell she was about. But I needed to get some distance between me and the situation before I could think clearly on it. Answers could wait, and so could her crazy plan, whatever it was. Right now I just needed to clear my head, get the intel I needed, and get back to my people. And I wasn’t going to accomplish any of that by sticking around here waiting for the kid to get better.
I gave her a look, shook my head, and then brushed past her and grabbed my gear. “I’ll be back in two days. If I’m not back by nightfall of the third day, feel free to move on without me.”
“You’re making a huge mistake.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time. Take care of the kid.”
“Sure, whatever you say, pendejo.” With that, she turned and walked off to the surgical suite.
As she was leaving, I whispered loudly back at her, just for spite, “And don’t forget to lock the door behind me!”
After I left the clinic I tracked the group until nightfall, and watched from a concealed observation point as they settled into a safe house located in an old abandoned industrial district. The location consisted of a metal warehouse and an enclosed area that was surrounded by an eight-foot chain link fence topped with razor wire. Not a bad place to stay, if you didn’t have to worry about vamps, and I suspected that these folks had a truce with the local nos‘ that kept them safe. Even so, no sooner did dark fall than they had a dozen or so deaders milling around the fence. Good. It would help mask my approach when I snuck in later.
I was observing them from the roof of a neighboring structure, mostly hidden by the roofline and a vent turbine. There was a bright mid-phase moon out and the sky was relatively clear, so I was able to observe their movements with a fair degree of accuracy. They were fairly organized for a group of punters, running patrols of the fence line every twenty minutes or so. The place was large, and it looked like it’d been used by some sort of power company in the past. There was equipment strewn all over the place inside the fence, as well as large spools of steel cable and whatnot lying about. All that junk provided lots of cover, which I would use to my advantage once I got inside.
Based on what I’d observed, they were taking four-hour shifts on watch, with two people on the perimeter and two inside the building. My plan was to take the two perimeter sentries out silently, and then sneak in and take the other two out in like fashion. The rest would hopefully still be asleep, and I could release the kid and be out of there before they knew what had happened.
Of course, as Von Moltke once said, no plan survives first contact with the enemy. So, I fully expected this to get bloody as hell. I decided I needed to get my target free as soon as possible, if only to even the odds a little. On the odd chance he’d want some revenge on his captors, freeing him quickly just might help my sorry stupid ass get out alive. One could hope.
My first order of business was to get through the fence. Now, there are various ways to defeat razor wire; you can cut it, cover it with something flexible like cardboard or carpet and go over it, or go around it. Cutting it would leave signs of my passing, an automatic no-go. Using cardboard boxes or carpet to cover the razor wire usually meant the same thing, since the material almost always snagged. Besides that, more often than not the razor wire would cut through the material before you got over. Also a no-go. Option three, I could look for a gap at the gate, or try getting over using a support upright for a handhold and step. But using that method I’d still probably get cut, turning me into chum for any vamps in the area. Likewise negatory on that option.
So, I was just going avoid it altogether. Based on past experience, I should be able to get under the fence at a weak point, if I could pull up the bottom of the chain link enough to sneak through. The easiest way to facilitate such an entry was to remove the wires that connected the chain link on two adjacent posts at the bottom, but that took time to do. I hoped I’d have enough time to get through before the patrol came back around, and before any deaders showed up to party. What I wouldn’t do for a full squad at my back right now, but as they say, shit in one hand and wish in the other…
I decided to use the terrain and OPFOR to my advantage. There was a window of about three minutes during every patrol when the punters pulling perimeter security completely lost line of sight with the front gate. It was a rookie mistake, since they should have been running staggered patrols, and on a less predictable schedule; lucky for me they didn’t know their shit. Time to turn that to my advantage.
Once the patrol was out of sight of the front gate, I ran directly to the fence line and used my multi-tool to bend the wire stays free and loosen the fence enough to slip under. I’d chosen an area of fence that was free of strays, so I should have plenty of time to get under the fence before they caught wind of me. Once I had it loose, I yanked the fence up and squeezed under. And without a moment to spare, because as I stood up I there were three deadheads right behind me and moaning up a storm.
I quickly found some cover before the patrol caught wind of the ruckus the deaders were making, and waited for them to pass my position before I moved on to my ambush point. Hopefully they’d assume it was just a small animal that had riled the deaders up, and then continue their patrol. I took up a concealed observation position behind some equipment, and waited for the patrol to respond to the commotion. Just as I suspected, they rationalized it away as nothing to be concerned with. Amateurs.
I pulled out one of my .45-caliber Glocks and attached my silencer to the barrel, and then I proceeded on to the designated ambush point. Contrary to popular belief, a sound-suppressed weapon does not make the pfft sound of a pellet gun. No matter the quality of the silencer or the caliber of the round being fired, a so-called “silenced” weapon still makes a noticeable report. However, with the noise that the deadheads were making, it was unlikely that the two guards inside the building would take notice. I’d also chosen an ambush point far in the back corner of the lot in order to reduce the noise of the pistol as much as humanly possible. Time to get this show on the road, I thought as I hid behind a dumpster and waited for the patrol to pass so I could take them out.
FIVE
FOEMEN
DESPITE MY CAREFUL PLANNING, as usual Murphy was in full effect on this mission. No sooner had I taken up my position behind the dumpster than a deader caught wind of me from the other side of the gate. I heard him before I saw him, moaning up loudly in order to call his buddies to come share a meal. As he got up to the fence, I could see that he must’ve been employed here; he was wearing blue work pants, work boots, a light-grey short-sleeved work shirt with Gus embroidered on the chest, and a reflective safety vest that had seen better days. Gus’s left eye was gone, and most of the s
kin on that side of his face as well. Gus was obviously not coping well with the zombie apocalypse.
Well, piss on an electric fence, I thought, this deadhead’s going to give me away.
I couldn’t change position, because the damned thing would just follow me. So, I did the only thing I could do. I glanced around to see if any other deadheads had heard Gus sound the alarm. Not seeing any of Gus’s buddies around, I put one in his empty eye socket and hoped that the patrol wouldn’t hear.
Hope was apparently all I had on this mission, because Gus had hardly hit the dirt when I heard those two punters coming up on us from no more than fifty feet away.
“What the hell was that?”
“Probably that damn raccoon that came through here a minute ago. Chill out, Ren.”
“Screw you, Charlie. That sounded like a gunshot.” Ren was obviously the brighter of the two. I might actually feel bad about taking him out. “You know what happened the last time we messed up on patrol. Hambone took away our whorehouse privileges. I had blue balls for a week.”
“Ren, you cain’t never get it on with those girls anyways. Every one of them says so.”
“Eat shit, Charlie. I’m still going to check it out.”
“Suit yourself.”
Well, maybe I wouldn’t feel so bad about killing Ren after all. I waited until they were almost on top of me, then snuck around the back of the dumpster and came up behind them. Two shots in quick succession, and the post-War gene pool had improved tremendously. Who says guns don’t save lives?
I quickly took Ren’s coat and hat, as he wouldn’t be needing either in his current condition, and dumped the bodies inside the trash receptacle. Ren’s hat was a little messy, and his jacket smelled like he’d just pulled it out of the dumpster. But despite the blood and Ren’s hygiene habits, this was no time to be squeamish; I’d need the disguise to confuse the folks inside if things went south.