Beyond the Brink_Toward the Brink IV

by Craig McDonough

  “Hold on. Put your heads on your knees and brace yourselves!” Richard yelled.

  The chopper spun like a boomerang before coming down on farmland just outside of Hammett, Idaho, next to Snake River. A hard landing, it bounced once before it kicked up into the air, flipped sideways, then came down where the rotors dug into the ground and slung the chopper like a body slam.

  The mushroom cloud behind them rose above the remains of Mountain Home AFB. What buildings, trees, and grassland that hadn’t burnt in General Stodge’s inferno now caught alight. Two bodies were thrown from the chopper as it cartwheeled through the air, then slammed down into the ground. Sparks from shorted-out electronics guaranteed an explosion, incinerating the chopper and the four occupants that remained on-board.

  Chapter Five

  Against All Odds 1

  The sound of a distant wail reverberated through his head. From the darkened pits of his mind, random blurry images rushed at him. Horribly disfigured creatures that smelled of death and decay, spewing a green substance that foamed like bath-suds on contact with the air. And mutant pygmies or midgets or children or whatever they hell they were running, running after him. Their razor-sharp teeth glistened as spit ran down their chin and eyes sparkled with lust for the kill. All these images were woven in-between flashes of the most brilliant light, and then skeletal x-ray images of the others aboard the chopper—Richard, Tristan, Stephen, Edward and…

  “TOM, TOM!” Elliot screamed.

  “It’s all right, it’s all right. You just relax now. Everything will be okay.”

  It was dark and cold, but Elliot knew they were inside. The air wasn’t fresh on your face, as it would if exposed to the elements. He’d been asleep and now sat as he tried to arouse his senses. The voice of the man who spoke was unfamiliar, not anyone he knew, but it seemed friendly.

  “Wh-who are you, did you see our chopper crash?” Elliot recalled that much.

  “My name is Jerry, and I did see your chopper come down—right after the detonation.”

  “Detonation? Do you mean a bomb?”

  “You don’t remember?”

  Elliot shook his head, and it hurt when he did. He put a hand to his forehead and searched his memory.

  Surely, I’d remember a bomb explosion?

  “Well, maybe you should count yourself among the lucky. It’s not something one would consider the utmost of importance to remember, but with the recent events, the lead-up and, it’s as if the gates of hell have opened and swallowed us all.”

  “All? The gates of wha—” Elliot covered both ears with the palms of his hands.

  “What is it my friend, what's wrong?”

  “Ringing, terrible ringing. Like the day after you’ve been to an AC/DC concert and had front row seat, y’know.”

  “Yes, actually I do know. Give me a moment.”

  Elliot heard a rustling as his new companion moved about, then the sound of an unmistakable rattle, then the pop of a bottle cap. He didn’t understand how this other person could move about yet he couldn’t see at all.

  “Here, take these, my friend. Wait just a moment, I’m boiling some water to make tea. You can wash them down with that.”

  “Th-thank you, Jerry.” Elliot felt the other man take his wrist, then place two round pills in the palm of his hand. They could be cyanide for all he knew, and this stranger might intend to kill him, but his demeanor said otherwise. He felt safe, there appeared to be no threat, and in good care.

  Why can’t I see him or even these pills in my hand, if he could…

  “You have bandages over your eyes, my friend. I found you unconscious, and there was blistering around the edges of your eyes. You must have looked in the direction of the blast.”

  “My name is…is…Elliot. Yeah, that’s right, Elliot.” He sounded unsure but pressed on. “If I was facing this bomb as you say, then I must have been awful damn close to having my eyes blistered, right?”

  “It was a nuclear device. My guess is the explosion occurred near the Mountain View airbase. Your chopper came down about five or six miles from there, so you were close enough.”

  Elliot slumped back into the couch he rested on, but hadn’t paid much attention to. He forgot the sound of the continuous wind chimes in his ear for the moment as he pieced the details together. One by one things, started to come together.

  Suddenly.

  “We—we, were on a chopper, escaping from the airbase. Th-the commander had a warhead…” Elliot shifted in his seat as he tenderly felt the bandages over his eyes. Slowly, and painfully, he told Jerry about the base, the foamer attack, the panic, the drunk commander with the nuclear weapon.

  “We tried to get out of range but…”

  A moment of silence fell as Elliot sought to bring the memories to the front of his mind. Elliot could hear his companion pour water into a cup, then the clink of the spoon as he stirred. “Here is your tea. Wash down those pills, they’ll help you.”

  Jerry took Elliot’s hand and placed it on the handle of the china mug which he sat on the small table just in front of the couch.

  “Mm, good, that's good. I haven’t had tea for a long time.”

  “Then enjoy it. I have a feeling we may be facing a shortage soon—very soon.”

  Elliot nodded, smiled, and took another sip of his tea. He had no idea who this quiet spoken person was but he did seem well informed of the situation. He patted the surface of the table with his free hand and, when satisfied he found a clear space, placed the cup back down.

  “Where are my friends, they were with me? Can I see them?”

  “Elliot, I’m sorry, but you’re the only one who survived.”

  The words only one echoed in his head, joining and swirling around with the ringing.

  “What do-do you mean I’m—” Elliot jumped to his feet sharply—too sharply. He stumbled forward—unsure of himself—caught the edge of the table, tripped and fell. The bandages, the ringing in his ears, the shock that his friends were no longer alive—it was all too much. He spilled his tea and knocked the table over. In the process, he knocked himself unconscious—again.

  * * *

  Just under an hour later, Elliot woke, this time in a bed. He was aware his pants were still on, but his boots, socks, shirt, and jacket had been removed. He rubbed his hand tenderly over his face—the bandages were still in place.

  “You gave me quite a scare, Elliot. How do you feel?”

  The voice was Jerry’s—he hadn’t been dreaming, it was real. Tom, Tristan, everyone was dead.

  “You said my friends were—”

  “Yes. Sorry, perhaps I should have shown more tact than I did.”

  Elliot nodded, then continued. “How did I manage to survive? You said you saw the crash, can you tell me?”

  Jerry took a deep breath, then Elliot heard him shift in his seat. “You were thrown clear of the helicopter and landed in a shallow area of the river. It cushioned your fall, I think, and saved you from the flames. Lucky, you didn’t end up any deeper. I was a half a mile away, but came as quick as I could. I saw you in the water, dragged you out, brought you here, and gave you a change of clothes.”

  “That would have been my next question, but anyway… Where exactly is here?”

  “We’re in Hammett.”

  “Hammett, Idaho?”

  “Yes, the very place. Something wrong?”

  “That's like, spitting distance from Twin Falls.” The knowledge he was so close to where it all started replaced his grief with apprehension.

  “What’s the significance of that?”

  Elliot pushed himself up in his bed, wedging his back against the wall. He felt his new companion place a bottle of drinking water in his hand. He took a mouthful of water, a deep breath, then explained his adventures in the foamer world and how it had come full-circle.

  “Well, let me thank you for being so upfront with me. You didn’t have to, but I appreciate it. Tell me, if I may, where is this Sandspit? I’m n
ot aware of it.”

  “It’s located off the west coast of Canada, two hundred miles or so north of Vancouver.”

  “That's quite an adventure you’ve had. I’d say you’re lucky to have survived this long, but I’m glad you have. It’s good to meet someone without red eyes and barfing up green sludge everywhere. I’d started to give up hope.”

  Elliot took another drink of refreshing water and as he did, noticed the ringing inside his head had all but gone.

  Elliot asked his new companion, “Are you a native of Twin Falls?”

  “Boise. But I had to move—too many foamers, not enough bullets.”

  Jerry said he believed the undead outbreak was spread across the entire continent, if not the world and Elliot’s tale confirmed as much.

  What am I going to say to Janet, and—

  The realization of his predicament hit Elliot like a house brick that fell from a great height.

  How in the hell do I get back? I can’t walk, and I can’t fly.

  He wished he could get up, he wished he felt better. He wished he could fucking see, he wished… He wished he could be with Cindy.

  Sandspit 22

  It had been over two weeks since Elliot’s departure. As each day passed, more of the survivors at Sandspit began to wonder—but no one asked. Cindy’s pregnancy was known throughout the community, and it was considered best to not worry her with constant reminders of how long the father of her child was gone.

  Even with the best of conditions, the estimated time to get to Washington, DC, find a way into the Pentagon, and disarm the retaliatory missile system—if that was at all possible—was optimistic. The more practical among them—or those that could deal with the harsh realities and conceal their feelings—discussed the likelihood of Elliot’s return, but only occasionally.

  Chuck, Riley, Bob, and Chess spoke briefly about when a return would be most likely. But that was all it was left at. No conversation of running into foamers, or rogue militant groups of desperate survivors, or any of the other countless possibilities. That wouldn’t have done their nerves any good.

  No one approached Elliot’s dad, about the subject. Most thought he—like Cindy—would already be worried out of his mind.

  Now, over two weeks had passed, and many had doubts that Elliot and those with him would be seen again.

  With the Tall Man moving about unassisted again, if cautiously, an improved confidence was noted and the belief in what they could achieve had been restored. Chuck, personally, didn’t feel confident about Elliot’s adventures, but said nothing. Not even to those he was closest with, not even Kath. There was work to be done, a lot of work if they were to survive here on these islands.

  “The work on the hothouse is coming along,” Chuck said as he tucked into his fillet of fried halibut. Regular fishing parties had begun, and the catches were always successful. “It will still take time to grow anything. In a couple of months, we’ll have some warmer weather—a little warmer, anyway—and if we can get some vegetables started now, we’ll be in a good position.”

  “I sense there’s a but, in there, right?” Riley asked.

  Chuck smiled at his friend before taking another bite of his fish—it was the second he’d had this morning. The move from the Sandspit Fish Market had been completed, and all necessary supplies moved up to the motel near the center of town. Not counting the front office, there were sixteen rooms. All fitted with furniture, good clean beds, plenty of blankets, and a huge supply of toilet tissue. Something they’d all gone without since they left Kath’s farm near Prince George.

  It was always the small comforts you missed most during a zombie apocalypse.

  The front office was larger than the others. This was cleared for a community meeting room and dining area, and where Chuck and Riley discussed their next move.

  Chuck finished his last bite, pushed his plate back, and grabbed the hot brew Kath had made. “You know me too well, Riley. And I think you know we need to make a food run to the mainland. We need to find some canned vegetables.”

  When the Twin Falls survivors left Prince George, they had more than doubled in size. The influx from the president's group and the remainder of the Terrace force, meant the supplies Kath had sensibly stored for years didn’t go as far as hoped. The eggs she brought went first, then the fresh vegetables, and now the dried vegetables were on ration. Freshwater wasn’t a problem. The Motel from had a large tank and—thanks to the wind turbine—they could access the electric pump. Several pickup trucks had been discovered nearby and pressed into action, a trip to an inland lake would soon be necessary to gather some fresh water to top up the tank. Fresh fish was now caught every third day from just off the harbor or the point at the end of the airport. The catamaran had been secured against the stormy weather. There was to be no repeat of the tragic event which cost Allan his life. One couldn’t survive on fish and water alone, and it was still several months before any fresh vegetables would be ready to harvest from the hothouse. Provided it was successful.

  “We might be hard-pressed to find anything left. All these places we came through were deserted. You even said so yourself—it didn’t look like a battle had taken place, or that they’d succumbed to the foamers. When we came through Prince Rupert, it looked clean compared with Terrace or elsewhere. It just looked like everyone had up and left, like stories I read about the Great Depression in some mid-west towns. Here one day, gone the next. Did they end up somewhere else or perish? No one seems to know and it might be one of them urban legends. But you know what I mean, right?” Riley wasn’t keen on another excursion to the mainland, not after the Chess’ experience, but knew it was necessary.

  “And you think they took all the food items with them?” Chucked asked Riley but cast a glance over at Kath who sat with her coffee at the end of the table.

  “It kind of looks that way. Sure, there were some foamers here, and they may have been the cause for the exodus. The general store here was stripped bare.”

  Chuck sipped on his coffee, deep in thought. He couldn’t blame Riley for his reluctance to trek back to the mainland him. The prospect didn’t excite the Tall Man all that much either. Ammunition was also a concern and had to be addressed. Another confrontation against foamers, and they’d be pressed.

  “You know there are some other towns here on these islands. We could search them first before venturing to the mainland. Who knows, we may get lucky.”

  “Hmm, going by the map, I think Queen Charlotte and Skidegate are the biggest towns, and aren’t far from here. We could give it a shot.” Chuck noticed Kath’s attention was raised by this remark.

  A relieved smile came over Riley’s face. The thought of avoiding the mainland clearly appealed to him. It was the first smile Chuck had seen from any of his friends since Allan’s death. With two deaths, two injuries, inclement weather—plus Elliot, Tom, and the others gone—smiling was no longer very common.

  “Do you mind if I say something?” Kath had sat at the end of the table during the conversation between the two men, but didn’t interject—until now. The planning committee was now made up of Chuck, Riley, Bob with Elliot gone. Kath was also considered a member, especially by Chuck.

  “No, Kath, of course not. What is it?”

  “If we check these towns and there’s nothing of use, then we’ve wasted a lot of time and perhaps put ourselves in danger. The sea can be rough, as we know all too well.” Chuck raised his eyebrows, not fully understanding what she meant. Kath obviously noticed his reaction, and offered a clarification. “None of us are expert seamen, and moving between these islands in the catamaran could pose a problem if the weather got rough. And there’s still the question of foamers. We never completed the house-to-house here. I suggest we reactivate that plan before we move on to another,”

  “Yes, but we did have some interruptions.”

  “I know, Chuck. I know.”

  Chuck rubbed a hand over his chin. Smooth and clean-shaven now, thanks to a f
ire pit built out in the parking area between the motel rooms. water was constantly on the boil. Shaves and hot baths were the first on the list.

  “You’re right. We can’t afford waste time around the island. We need to head to the mainland, find a vehicle or two, and search Prince Rupert and Port Edward. Maybe even as far as Terrace if we—”

  “Are you crazy?” Riley slapped a hand down on the table. Others in the room who were eating or drinking coffee turned and stared at the sudden disruption.

  “Easy on, Kojak!” Chuck mocked. Like him, his friend had taken the opportunity for a clean shave. Not just the growth on his face—his domed head now sported the likeness of a bowling ball.

  “Sorry, but I think a return to the mainland is too risky. We don’t know what’s waiting for us out there. Remember Chess’ rescue attempt.”

  “I do, we all do, but we need to supplement our diet. We can’t live on fish, water, and coffee, we just can’t. I agree we don’t know what's out there. So I’ll take eight men with me, all armed with M4s. We go in, grab what we can, and get out.”

  “And when did you get the all-clear to lead an excursion again? Did you ask Morris—or me, for that matter?”

  “Kath, I’m good. I won’t be running or—”

  “You have no idea what you’ll be doing!”

  “She’s right, Chuck. You don’t know, and I don’t think you’re up to it. Why not let Chess take a team over—”

  “Because I want Chess and some of his men here in case you need him for defense.” Chuck didn’t elaborate any further. The main reason he wanted Chess to remain behind was his age. Younger than Riley, Bob, and himself and with Elliot’s absence, Chess would be the logical choice to lead the group should an attack occur. Riley would be more suited to defense whereas Chess could take the fight to the aggressor—whoever that might be.