Surviving The Dead | Book 9 | War Without End

by Cook, James N.

  “Think one of your guys can take us back to Peterson?” Hicks asked as the Humvees slowed to a stop on the street next to us.

  Gabriel shook his head. “Negative. I know Tyrel. He’s going to want all available resources fighting the outbreak as soon as possible. You’ll have to wait with us at headquarters.”

  Hicks nodded. “Fair enough.”

  “I need to make a stop along the way,” Muir said, pointing northward. “Left my Barrett on a rooftop about a block that way.”

  Gabe nodded. “We can do that.”

  We divided up, climbed into the vehicles, and left Southtown behind.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Sabrina,

  Memorial Plaza, Garden District

  It took an agonizing amount of time for the driver to turn the wagon around. The horses thrashed and whinnied, and the iron-bound wheels clattered on the pavement as the wagon rode a circle around the statue in the center of the plaza. Sabrina kept her eyes fixed on the half-collapsed building at the epicenter of the blast. While she watched, another nightmare shook itself loose from the rubble and stood up, giving another ear-blasting roar. Sabrina clapped her hands over her ears and watched the creature start lumbering toward a crowd of terrified onlookers. The onlookers—to their credit, Sabrina thought—did the smart thing and started running. The wagon was turned back the other way now and she twisted in her seat to look for the other one. She found it standing in the same place it had been before.

  And it was looking straight at her.

  “Shit,” she muttered. “Not good.”

  The monstrosity opened its mouth and began running in the wagon’s direction. For a couple of seconds, Sabrina could only stare. It looked just like her father had described, a walking, slavering nightmare that could move much faster than any infected she had ever seen. There was something almost graceful about it, a kind of feline agility to its motions.

  And it was coming on much quicker than the wagon was moving.

  “Guys, guys” she said, pounding a hand on the stacked grain sacks in the back of the wagon. Elizabeth and the STUs looked at her. She pointed. “We got company.”

  The STUs looked, blanched, and aimed their weapons. “Shit,” one of them said. “There’s civilians in the line of fire.”

  “What are you waiting for?” Sabrina yelled, her voice rising an octave. “Shoot the damn thing!”

  “Hang on,” Sergeant Penn shouted back. “We’ll let it get closer, and then we’ll take it down. We can’t risk hitting civilians.”

  Sabrina wanted to rip her hair out. “No, shoot it now! If it gets too close it’ll-”

  The beast chose that very moment to leap into the air. The STUs tried to re-aim their weapons, but the leap had caught them by surprise. The nightmare sailed toward them faster than the STUs could adjust for and landed directly on top of Sergeant Penn. It hit the man like a gigantic hammer, slamming him onto his back with enough force to rock the wagon violently. Elizabeth, who was less than two feet away from the big Gray, screamed and started scrambling backward. The other STUs, who had been kneeling on either side of the wagon, were bucked off and landed hard on the pavement below. The horses, panicked now, began running faster and quickly left the two Blackthorns behind.

  “What the hell is going on!” the old driver cried out as he struggled to rein in the horses.

  “Just keep this thing moving,” Sabrina shouted back, and then scrambled until she had one foot on the floor and the other braced on the driver’s bench.

  The monster had nailed Sergeant Penn to the sacks of grain beneath him with clawed hands. Before Sabrina could get into position, it raised its snout, opened is maw to reveal rows of sharp, alligator-like teeth, and bit down on Penn’s shoulder. The man screamed in agony, his hands pushing uselessly at the giant ghoul’s shoulders. The creature shook its head back and forth like a rabid wolf and ripped away an incredible amount of flesh. Blood gushed from the wound in heavy gouts, and Penn’s face went ghost white from the sudden shock. Sabrina finally managed to set her balance aimed her pistol.

  “Hey asshole!”

  The head snapped in her direction, and for a moment, Sabrina saw a pair slitted red-and-yellow eyes staring back at her with unreasoning fury.

  She also had its ugly lump of a forehead centered in her sights.

  “Perfect. Thanks.”

  She fired.

  The head snapped backward, and the creature shuddered and collapsed on top of Penn, whose eyes had glazed over as the blood pouring from him slowed to a trickle. His carotid artery had been torn open, along with a few others. Seeing that he would be dead in seconds, Sabrina shifted aim and calmly put two rounds in his head. Then she turned her attention back to the monster.

  To her dismay, it began to sit up.

  “Fuck me running,” Sabrina said. “You are one tough son of a bitch.”

  She fired five more times, reducing the thing’s head to a pulp. It went down again, and this time, it stayed down.

  “Stop the wagon,” Sabrina said, slapping the driver on the arm.

  “I’ll try,” he said. “Hang on.”

  While the driver struggled to rein in the horses, Sabrina checked her magazine. Her weapon was a Glock 19 loaded with fifteen rounds. She had fired nine since the explosion. Six left. She inserted a fresh magazine and put the partially spent one in the empty mag slot on her belt.

  After a great deal of thrashing and cursing, the driver finally got the horses under control and convinced them to stop. Sabrina reached over and set the brake. The driver turned around and stopped cold when he saw the big gray monstrosity collapsed on top of Sergeant Penn’s corpse.

  “Mother of God,” he said in a breathless voice, eyes bulging in disbelief. “What is that thing?”

  “Elizabeth,” Sabrina said, ignoring the driver and moving around the wagon. She put a hand on her stepmother’s arm. “You okay?”

  Elizabeth was in the front corner of the wagon, pressed against the wall, eyes wide and breathing hard. It took a few seconds, but she finally managed to calm herself, scramble up to a sitting position, and swing her legs over the side. Sabrina caught her as she jumped down.

  “I’m okay,” Elizabeth said. “I’m not hurt. At least no more than I was before.”

  “Makes two of us,” Sabrina said. “Come on, help me get these bodies off the wagon.”

  Sabrina dropped the tailgate and began pulling sacks of grain out of the way and dropping them in the street.

  “Hey,” the driver shouted. “That’s my cargo! I paid for that.”

  “It’s got infected blood all over it,” Sabrina said irritably. “You think anyone’s gonna buy it now?”

  The man stuttered, stammered, and finally sat down.

  Sabrina heard running footsteps behind her and turned with her weapon drawn. After a second, she lowered it. The other two STUs had finally caught up to them. They looked her and Elizabeth over anxiously.

  “Are either of you hurt,” one of them, the younger one, asked.

  “We’re fine, no thanks to you two stupid assholes.” Sabrina put her weapon away and began tugging at a sack of grain. “Make yourselves useful and give me a hand.”

  “Where’s Penn?” the older one asked.

  Sabrina pointed. “Up there. He’s dead.”

  There was no response for a few seconds, and then one of them cursed and kicked one of the wagon’s wheels.

  “Hey,” Sabrina barked at him. “You gonna help me or what?”

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m getting these blood-soaked bags and those two infected corpses out of our wagon. Mind giving me a fucking hand?”

  She dropped a grain sack on the ground and grabbed another one. The STUs looked at each other for a moment.

  “Come on,” the older one said. “She’s right. There’s nothing we can do, and our job hasn’t changed. We need to get this stuff out of the wagon, or they won’t let us in at headquarters.”

  Between
the four of them, they made quick work of it. It took everyone, including the driver, to remove the incredibly heavy body of the big Gray.

  “Christ,” the younger STU said as they finally pulled it from the wagon and let it slump to the ground. “This thing must weigh four hundred pounds.”

  “At least,” Sabrina said.

  They were more careful with Sergeant Penn. Sabrina was still angry at him for not shooting the Gray when she had told him to, but she guessed it did not matter now. Stupid or not, the man had died trying to protect her. In Sabrina’s book, that counted for something. They laid him gently on the side of the road and crossed his arms over his chest. The older STU removed his coat and put it over Penn’s face.

  “Are we just gonna leave him here?” the younger one said quietly, staring down at the body. “That doesn’t seem right.”

  “He’s infected, numb-nuts,” Sabrina said.

  “You know, I think I’ve had about enough of your mouth,” the younger STU said, glaring angrily at Sabrina. She stepped forward and got up in his face.

  “Oh really? You want to be mad at somebody, you fucking moron? Well here’s an idea for you.” She jabbed two sharp fingers into his chest. “Take a look in the goddamn mirror. If you and your idiot friend here had opened fire when I fucking told you to, Penn would still be alive. What do you think about that?”

  The man met her gaze for a few seconds, and then looked away.

  “Yeah,” Sabrina said. “That’s what I thought.”

  She walked around him and climbed back up into the wagon. “We’re done here,” she said. “Get in and let’s go.”

  The STUs helped Elizabeth into the wagon and then climbed in themselves, shutting the tailgate after them. When they sat down, they were careful to stay away from the blood on the floor. There was not much, the grain sacks had absorbed most of it, but they were still loath to touch it.

  Sabrina released the break and sat down on the bench. The old man took up the reins, hesitated, and looked over at her. Behind them, the roaring of the other monster and the screams of people in its path grew louder. She heard several helicopters in the air and wondered how many more of those things were out there.

  “Listen,” the old man said. “I, uh…”

  “Just shut the fuck up and drive,” Sabrina said.

  The old man shut his mouth and nodded.

  “Okay.”

  No one spoke the rest of the way to BSC headquarters.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Maru,

  Outer Boroughs

  Maru left the wagon at the base of a low ridge that paralleled the main road on the outskirts of the easternmost borough. There was a small sack of grain and a Gerry can full of water in the back locked in a wooden box. He let the horses dip their snouts into the grain and eat a few mouthfuls. Afterward, the horses were thirsty, licking their prehensile lips and foaming at the mouth. There was no bucket, but the wagon was covered in a blue waterproof tarp. Maru found the razorblade he had cut his restraints with and sliced a large square out of the tarp. It was not ideal, but if he held the four ends together, he could pour water into it. After he let the horses drink, he grabbed a handful of brush and gave them a quick rubdown. He planned to come back and retrieve the wagon and livestock when his work was done, and he wanted the horses to be fresh when he did.

  Looking at the sky, he knew he did not have much time. It would be dawn soon, and Heinrich would want to be gone before the sun came up. When he left, he would most likely head south a few miles before turning west. If Heinrich made it into the mountains, he could choose from dozens of pre-planned escape routes, and at that point, Maru’s chances of finding him would be next to zero. He had to get to him before that happened.

  Maru set the brake on the wagon, chocked the wheels with a few large stones, and set off toward town.

  The half-mile to the East Gate Market passed under his feet quickly. Despite his large stature, Maru was a decent runner. He ran regularly for exercise, and because he enjoyed it. His workout jaunts through the streets of the Springs generally exceeded five miles, so covering half a mile at a hard pace was not too difficult even over the snowy, uneven ground.

  He angled toward a tavern on the western fringe of the settlement where he hoped he could enter unseen. It was important for him to be unobtrusive, as this part of the Boroughs was something of an island. The area he would be searching only covered a few blocks, maybe just over forty buildings in total.

  He knew where to find Heinrich’s house in this borough, but he also knew Heinrich would not be there. It was a place to sleep when he wanted to get out of the city, nothing more. Heinrich’s real home was a livery situated next to a small office building with a general store taking up the first floor. Heinrich kept a cache of trade goods there, as well as weapons, supplies, and ammunition. Maru figured that was where Heinrich would be if he were still in town, so he headed that way.

  It was slow going at first. Maru’s face was not well known here, and people in this part of the Boroughs did not see much trade with the city. The area was mostly a place where locals who lived in other boroughs did business at prices far lower than what caravans and city dwellers paid. Consequently, everybody knew everybody else here and outsiders were regarded with suspicion. But as he made his way quietly along side streets and through alleyways, he quickly realized that almost everyone was still asleep. Only the earliest of early risers were out and about, and most of them were walking purposefully toward whatever it was that motivated them to awaken at this unholy hour.

  Still, Maru had to be careful not to be seen. He was not exactly sure how many people from the tribe lived in the area, but he guessed there must be at least a dozen or more. If any of them saw and recognized him, it would make catching Heinrich by surprise that much more difficult.

  As he turned a corner, something at the edge of his vision drew his attention. Maru looked westward and squinted at something in the distance. After a few seconds, he realized he was looking at headlights approaching from just beyond the wall. Several sets of headlights, in fact.

  Feds, he thought. Those bastards can really move when they want to.

  He had hoped to have more time before Garrett’s fed contacts could organize and set out for the Boroughs in force, but it looked like that was not to be. Looking eastward again, Maru saw the peak of the livery roof where Heinrich might be waiting. He looked up the street and saw no one. Looked the other way. Nothing. Throwing caution to the wind, he set out at a run.

  He covered one block without incident, but as he turned to approach the livery via the alley running behind it, he saw shapes silhouetted against the dim morning light. Thinking quickly, he turned and ducked behind a large trash bin next to a blacksmith’s shop. The smell of scorched metal and coal ash stung his nose as he crouched and waited, the approaching footsteps and voices growing louder. He reached into his coat pocket and put a hand around the Glock pistol he had taken from one of the Blackthorns earlier. He hoped he would not need to use it. Not yet at least.

  The voices finally reached him. The men were from the tribe, that much was certain. They talked nervously about the approaching feds and what they could do to slow them down while Heinrich rode away. One of them, a man who went by the name of Stubbs, who Maru had known since the early days of the tribe, spoke the loudest of all.

  “Listen to me, enough with the bullshit,” he said. “We’re not shootin’ at ‘em. They’re feds, you fuckin’ morons. They shoot back. We’ll stand out in the market square and make sure everyone can see us. If anybody goes to talk to the feds, we go over and walk past ‘em and glare at ‘em real mean like. Let ‘em know they better keep their fuckin’ mouths shut if they know what’s good for ‘em. Other than that, we don’t do shit. You hear me? Now make yourselves useful and go wake up the others.”

  Several of the men muttered a grumbling assent and set off at a run. The others fell into step behind Stubbs and, within less than a minute, were gone from vie
w, their voices fading. Maru stayed where he was, kept his breathing under control, and listened. Another minute passed, but he didn’t hear any other signs of life save for the snorting of horses and grunts of oxen at the livery.

  “Well,” he said quietly. “I guess it’s now or never.”

  For just a moment, he thought about choosing never. Heinrich did not know where he was, had no clue if he was even still alive. He could sneak back to the edge of the Boroughs, run back to his wagon, and ride north. There was a cache of the tribe’s trade goods, as well as weapons and ammunition, hidden under the toolshed of an abandoned ranch house half a day’s ride from where he stood. He knew this because he was the one who had put it there. He could raid the stash, fill up his wagon, and then set out for the Cheyenne Safe Zone in Wyoming. The tribe had no presence there—the local militias had zero tolerance for marauders—and he had no doubt he would be able to sell the tribe’s trade for something light, portable, and valuable like sugar or pemmican. He could trade his wagon and livestock for a healthy riding horse and a sturdy pack mule. He could purchase tools, supplies, a tent and bedroll, tack for his horses, and he could head west for California.

  He thought of the ocean and the warm sun he had dreamed about for so long. No one would ever find him out there. Heinrich had no ambitions toward California, had no ambitions to the west at all. His interests lay in the civilized parts of the country where crime syndicates could earn enough money to make it worth the risks they took. California was settler country; only farmers and tradesmen had any interest in migrating there. For Heinrich, it was a land of slim pickings and scarce comforts. Hardly the kind of target worth the price of a raid.