“Elliot!” James Goodwin called.
“Dad!” Elliot turned to see his father approach, arms already outstretched. “Dad it’s…it’s…”
“It’s all right, Elliot. It’s all right,” Tears flowed down James’ cheeks. It wasn’t all right, but they were men, there was a job to do, and that’s what men say—isn’t it?
“I’m not going to say goodbye, I’m just going to just wish you a safe and uneventful trip,” James said to his only child. “Just hurry back. Now, you better go down and see your Aunt and Chuck before you go. Okay?”
Elliot pulled back from the embrace, wiped his eyes on the back of his camouflaged jacket, and nodded. Now wasn't the right time to try and speak.
Tristan was busy with the two chopper pilots—Richard Moore and Edward “Ted” Blain—when he spotted Elliot leave for the fish market. “Five minutes, Elliot.”
“I’ll be back!” Elliot’s croaky voice didn’t quite match the heavy tones of Arnold Schwarzenegger’s android. Elliot would have preferred another to accompany them, but deferred to Riley’s judgment. Marine combat pilots like Richard and Ted were worth four men when their ability to fly and maintain the chopper was considered—plus their skills with small-arms, first aid, survival, and demolitions. The decision was a no—brainer.
* * *
“Come in.”
Elliot heard his aunt answer after he knocked lightly on the door. Sergeant Morris informed him that she hadn’t left Chuck’s side—not even for a bathroom break.
“Elliot, oh my God!” Kath said in a hushed but excited tone when he entered.
Elliot rushed toward his aunt’s outstretched arms, but came to a sudden stop when he saw Chuck lying on the makeshift bed. It hurt Elliot to see him like this—pale, gaunt, and helpless. It was not the memory he wanted to take with him on his journey back east.
“Bob came in and told me you’re almost ready,” she said, embracing Elliot.
“Yes, Aunt Kath. I have to—”
“Are you sure you can leave Cindy now that she’s pregnant.”
Elliot pulled back sharply. “Did Bob tell you?” He noticed the lines of mascara that ran down her cheeks—she had been crying.
“It's okay, Elliot, he only told me because he cares for both of you.”
Elliot nodded. He wasn’t angry at Bob—maybe at himself, but…
“How is Chuck?” Elliot changed the subject.
“Sergeant Morris said he’s holding his own. He’s strong—not just physically—but you already knew that. The sergeant doesn’t believe there is any internal bleeding, and he thinks we halted the blood loss, but he did lose quite a bit.”
“What’s with the bags?”
“Sergeant Morris said the best way to slow the blood was to use the snow from outside. He found some plastic bags, filled them with snow, and placed them on the open wounds. It’s worked so far.”
“I hate for this to be the last way I see him before I go.”
“Then reconsider, send some—”
“I can’t! And you know that if Chuck was well, he wouldn’t hesitate.”
“So that’s it, you’re trying to be Chuck’s replacement?”
“No. It’s because Chuck can’t go that I must.”
“Can’t you two keep it down. There’s a sick man in here, in case you didn’t know.”
“CHUCK. OH MY, CHUCK!” Kath rushed to his side and put her arms around him. “Oh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Tears flowed once more.
Morris came into the room. “What’s all the ruckus in—oh, I see you’re awake. How do you feel, Mr. Black?”
“Well, if you can get this woman to stop strangling me…”
Kath Goodwin raised up from the couch on which the man she cared for lay. Elliot moved up behind his aunt and had tears in his eye, but a smile that stretched from ear to ear.
“And by the way, Sergeant, it's Chuck, just call me—”
“FUCKIN’ CHUCK!” Elliot and Kath finished for him before they turned and laughed—a much-needed laugh.
When the laughter died down, Morris conducted a quick exam on the patient and was pleased with the outcome. “You’ll need to rest up for a good few days. This will take weeks to heal fully, but your vitals look good, for what I’m able to tell without any equipment.”
“Perhaps there’s a doctor’s office in town, maybe we could get some supplies there?”
“That’s an idea, Aunt Kath. I’ll have Chess look for one in his search.”
“I’ll tell him for you, Elliot. You have about five minutes with Chuck, and you don’t want to waste them.”
Elliot gave Morris a thoughtful nod and shook his hand—he did have to inform Chuck of the current situation and say goodbye.
Elliot left the office room five minutes later. As soon as he informed Chuck of the missile crisis, he was told to, “stop hanging around and get moving!”
The whine of the helicopter could be heard as Chess met Elliot and accompanied him to the airport. “How’s Chuck?”
“Weak as you’d expect, but Morris said he looked good. But I want you to keep a close eye on him for me,”
“You got it. I know he’s the type that will want to be up and about before he’s able.”
“Exactly, and one more thing. Look through the town for a doctor’s office, even a pharmacy, take Morris with you and get all the supplies you can—for Chuck and everyone else.”
The rotors on the Bell 206L-4 increased as the two approached the heliport.
“Well, I guess I see you in a week or two,” Chess yelled, then slapped Elliot on the shoulder.
“You bet your ass you will. Just look after everyone and clean out those foamers if there's any left okay?”
The down force from the rotors blew their hair in all directions and kicked up grass and dust.
Both put on a brave show, and they knew it. There was no time for long goodbyes—it was best this way.
Stay focused on the job ahead, or the emotions could wear you down.
Did Chuck say that? Elliot wondered as he ducked down and scooted to the chopper.
But then it dawned on him that it was he who said it—just as if it had come from Chuck.
“Get in and buckle up, Elliot,” Tristan called. “You don’t need a ticket for this flight!”
Elliot smiled back at Tristan and thought how much his humor was like that of Chess. Soldiers from the same unit—the same experience—tended to be like that. He was glad that his buddy Chuck wasn’t like that, but he’d obviously been out of military service for some time—whatever service that happened to be—and even happier he was going to be all right. He was in good hands. Chess, Riley, Allan, and, of course, Aunt Kath. He sat back in his seat, his load a lot less than before. Chuck would be okay and Cindy, she was strong and would get over it. Especially when he got back in a week or so.
Yep, now he could sit back and panic about the helicopter flight—not that he intended to say anything.
Chapter Two
Sandspit 5
Elliot glanced toward the harbor area and the fish market as the Bell 206L-4 shuddered its way skyward. Cindy stood between Bob and Riley, watching the takeoff. Her pale complexion and blond hair made her stand out like a beacon in the night against the two darker-skinned gentlemen. Elliot waved to her, but she didn’t see—it was too far—at least that's how Elliot consoled himself. He kept the thought in his heart that it would only be two weeks at the most. With Chuck now conscious and Cindy expecting their child, he had more than enough reasons to make it back safe and sound.
If everything went as planned.
Even in an ideal world, plans are apt to fail. In a post-apocalyptic world overrun with the undead, that was a given.
The northern sky darkened with thick clouds as the chopper headed on a southerly route. Their first destination was Port Hardy and its airport on Vancouver Island. Fuel, water, and good night’s sleep would be their priorities.
Elliot held on tight in his seat and hoped his disco
mfort wasn’t too obvious. While he gritted his teeth for the long journey, below and not far from the flight path of the chopper, another man was preparing for an uncomfortable journey. But unlike Elliot, he focused so much on the result, he paid little attention to the rigors of the future sea trip.
That man was Richard Holmes.
Port Edward 2
The six members of the Terrace force took Holmes back to Kaien Island in an old Titan four-door pick up. It was a bumpy ride along the train tracks, but it beat walking.
“Don’t you think we should take some provisions with us, Mr. Holmes?”
“All we need is the two canteens of water we each have. We can’t afford to weigh ourselves down. Besides, there’ll be plenty where we’re headed.”
The senior man from the team questioned Holmes once more. “You do know it will be close to dark by the time we get there, right?”
Holmes could tell by the constant questions this one was to be a problem. Well, the former leader of this group—with his lovely, clean red beret—was also a problem. But he took care of that, too.
“That’s why we need to get moving now, Mr. Jones.” Holmes pointed to the north and the clouds rolling in. “We’ve got weather coming in, and I don’t want to be on the open sea when it hits.”
“You sure it will be all right to leave the women—”
“We left them with plenty of food and water, plus some weapons. If all goes well—and there’s no reason why it shouldn’t—we’ll be back for them in a few days.” Holmes presented a confident picture, but he knew otherwise—there were many reasons why it may not go so well.
With that, Holmes climbed aboard the boat to take him back to Sandspit—and this time, vengeance.
Sandspit 6
Bob approached Chess in the market as he checked his harness and equipment.
“Perhaps it would be better to wait until tomorrow, Chess. You—we’ve all had a rough night. Rest might be what's needed now.”
“It’s because of last night that we need to check the nearby structures while we still have light. We can’t hold off another attack.”
Bob couldn’t argue with that logic. He too was aware of the ammunition status. It wasn’t good.
Once Chuck’s bleeding had been arrested, the main supplies from the catamaran were brought ashore: food, water, medicine—especially the medicine—and ammunition. This time, they brought in the crossbows and bolts. The thought at one time was to save ammunition by using the crossbows, but they had no idea of the sheer amount of foamers they would face. Throw in hundreds—maybe thousands—of rogue military, police, and beer-swilling gun crazies roaming the cities and towns, then bullets ran dry fast. It wasn’t like those old western movies where the Indians attacked the fort, and the cowboys held out with an apparently endless supply of ammunition until the cavalry arrived.
No. This was the real world. Hunting down the foamers as they hid in their lairs during the daylight hours would be the perfect time to use the crossbows. Samantha Jones suggested as much not that long ago.
“Let's hope we got all the foamers last night, and you return safe and sound.”
“I’d like to think so too. But just in case, I’ve got some kerosene I found up at the airstrip. If we get into trouble, I’ll tie a rag dipped in that kerosene to a bolt, and fire it in the air, okay?”
“I’ll keep the guards on the lookout for it until you return.”
Chess had already picked his “search and destroy” team, which apart from himself, included former Secret Service man Rob Mitchell and four other Special Forces personnel—Holmes’ former private contractors.
That was until Allan confronted him and demanded he be a part of the team. “I’ve had enough of being treated like a kid. Chuck never did. He gave me responsibility and he—”
“Okay, okay, okay.” Chess threw up his hands. He liked Allan a lot, just like everyone—and he also knew not to say no to him. “You can come along, but just remember we’ll be shooting foamers in the head from close range with crossbows.” Chess reminded Allan of their task.
Chess and Johnny Redmund carried M4s, Allan and Rob each had a pump-action shotgun, while Glenn Allison and Terry Ashwood were armed with a crossbow each.
“The airport buildings have been given the all-clear. I suggest we start with the stores in town, then move to the southern end and work our way in a semi—circular pattern.” Chess spelled out his plan loud and clear as the six-man team marched toward the heliport where Elliot had taken off from less than an hour ago. “Oh, and keep an eye out for a doctor's office. We don’t have any addresses here, and we need to find more medical supplies.”
“You got it, boss,” Terry Ashwood replied.
It was almost like old times, Chess thought for a moment. Leading a patrol of Special Forces in a search-and-destroy. The difference this time were the surrounds and the fact that almost everything he had come to know in the world had already been destroyed.
“Yep, some weird shit happens, all right.”
“Huh, what’d you say Chess?” Allan asked.
“No, no, just mumbling about the clouds above. There’s some snow there, for sure.”
“So, I guess you’ve stepped up to third in charge now.” Allan moved up alongside Chess. His talking attracted some sharp looks from the other members of the squad—soldiers on patrol automatically went into silent mode.
“How do you figure that?”
“Well, most of us looked to Chuck as the leader, then either Elliot or Riley with Chuck out of action for a while, and—”
“Let me say this.” Chess pulled up, adjusted his wool beanie and looked Allan square in the eye. “We are all equal in this, we all have the same input, and we each have different experiences to draw from. That’s our strength. There are no leaders, yet we’re all leaders. That’s what I learned from Chuck, Elliot, Riley, Bob, and even you, Allan.”
Chess left Allan where he stood, his mouth wide open from surprise. If there the one thing he learned from Chuck in his short time with him, it was to encourage others.
“Come on then, Allan, don’t hold up the team.”
Allan quickly picked up his step and rejoined Chess, who pressed a forefinger to his lips as they closed on the stores ahead.
The air temperature had dropped since they left the market. And because all were appropriately dressed in camouflage jackets, pants, and lined boots, they all developed a sweat from the brisk walk.
“Chess!” Johnny called in a hushed voice. “Maybe we should check on that building over on the rise, then work our way back. It's the only other one nearby.”
Chess sized the situation up. It was a good walk up a steady incline dotted with patches of snow. It would mean they might not be able to fit in a full search of the houses behind the line of stores. But it would save coming back for one building tomorrow.
“Okay, we’ll have to double-time on the way back if we’re to get things done before sunset.”
* * *
Holmes and his new crew made good time in the large pleasure craft as they skirted around the nearby islands. The sea was much calmer in the channel between Lelu Island and the tail of Kaien Island, and the dash across the open sea to Sandspit was also relatively calm. Jonesy, the loudmouth Holmes was wary of, said he knew how to handle a boat and could judge direction across the water. Holmes was happy to turn the controls over to him. Sharing some of the responsibility and authority always helped win people over to your side and lull them into a false sense of security.
Either way, Holmes would have no use for this insubordinate once the mission was complete.
“Right then, Jonesy, take the boat to the southern side of that point ahead of us. The dock is on the other side of that small rise. They won’t know what hit them if we time this right.”
With a few hours before sunset, Holmes and crew rammed their boat up onto beach-front, avoiding the icy water. If you got wet in this weather and couldn’t dry off soon enough, frostbite wo
uld set in and lead to severe problems. The hill that divided Holmes’ crew and the town of Sandspit was perhaps three hundred feet high. It was a steady climb, which even Holmes felt confident of doing. Once they passed the few rocks on the beach, there wasn’t much in the way of cover. Holmes—who now wore a black woolen jacket—told Jonesy to send someone to scout ahead.
“Smith. Look and see what's ahead okay?”
“You got it,”
Smith was the slightest member of the crew and moved up the incline with relative ease. He wore a Canadian camouflage jacket and pants like everyone else—except for Holmes—and carried an M4. The jacket was warm, but the pants left a little to be desired. After the rush of cold air and water-spray from the boat ride, a quick climb would get the blood pumping and heart beating once more.
“Just on the rise there’s a single building, it looks down onto the town and airport,” Smith reported when he returned a few minutes later.
“All right, then let's make that our observation post,” Jonesy said and looked at Holmes for approval. A sharp nod from the company man was what he received.
It took Holmes’ crew a good ten minutes to crest the hill and position themselves behind the building, which appeared to be the club-house of the Sandspit golf course. From their position, they could see right down onto the town. Sitka spruce trees lined the fairway on their left and right, but for more than a hundred yards, the view was uninterrupted.
“What can you see?” Holmes asked as he pressed up against the outside wall.
“As far as I—” Smith started to say.
“What is it?” Holmes asked nervously—he didn't have any real combat experience to speak of.
“Six men, armed. Straight ahead, headed this way.”
Holmes didn’t question as he moved next to Smith, pulled out his binoculars, and scanned the area below.
“Damn! Those are some of my men. I helped them escape the onslaught of those zombies, and they repaid me by turning traitor. Bastards!” There was venom in Holmes’ tone.
Beyond the Brink_Toward the Brink IV Page 3