Mayer didn’t hesitate. “We can wait another day as I said. But after that, we must leave. We don’t have the supplies and my—”
Chess jumped in. “You and your men can share what we have here. Just for another week, surely you can do that.”
“I’m sorry, but you have to understand we’ve been aboard our sub now for many months, no shore leave whatsoever. We were on our way to the South Pacific when we spotted you. I cannot ask my men to wait any longer, I just can’t.”
“Do you mind if we discuss this among ourselves over the next twenty-four hours, Steve?” Bob asked.
“No, not at all. I perfectly understand, and you have my word we won’t leave. Pete and I will head back to the Louisiana for the night. We’ll take the dinghy, if that’s okay?”
“Sure, sure it is. And thanks for understanding,” Chuck added, even though he was far from pleased with the outcome. He turned to James. “Is that old car still working?”
“It sure is. You want me to drive them back to the harbor?”
“Better than sending them out in the dark and the rain, don’t ya think?”
“You don’t have to, honestly. We’re Navy. Used to getting wet and we’re not afraid of the dark.”
“If you’d seen half of what we have, you would be, son. You would be,” Riley quipped.
Steve and Pete put on yellow rain jackets and followed James out to the car while inside everyone remained silent until they heard them drive away. Chuck held up a hand calling for quiet.
“Nice of you to offer them a ride back to the harbor, or was it that you just wanted to get James out of the way?”
“You know me far too well, Riley.” Chuck said, before smiling. He’d been caught. “I think we need to discuss this amongst ourselves for the moment and James has some emotional attachment to say the least. Let’s look at the finer details before we present it to the rest tomorrow. Let me say this right off the bat—if we put this to a vote, I believe some here who will immediately vote yes to leave. It’s human nature, save yourself first others later. Then there are some of us who are closer to Elliot and I’m not only referring to his father and Cindy. There’s Kath, the Grigsby’s, Riley, Bob and myself. So, you can see why I didn’t want James here—or Cindy, for that matter. It’s far too complex and emotional for them.”
“I agree and understand, but there is really one question. Do we leave or do we stay?” Bob asked. “I don’t believe we can afford to split up. That won’t work, especially for those that stay behind.”
“Why wouldn’t it work?” Chess asked.
“With everything we have in place on the island now and everything we’re implementing, there will be a certain number needed to maintain all of it. Plus, the gathering of food and fresh water, and protection. The fewer people here, the more each individual will be responsible for. It will be only a matter of time before patience wears thin and fatigue sets in.”
“So, you saying it’s an all go or all stay option only?”
“It has to be, Chess.”
“Which brings us back to the question of Elliot, Tom, and the others,” Riley said.
“The real question is—what it boils down to—is whether we value our lives and our future. I hate to sound so practical about it, but under these circumstances, there’s no other choice.”
A few words were said as each man in the room weighed the pros and cons—or at least tried to. It wasn’t easy. Everyone in this room held strong feelings towards at least one of the missing people.
Kath came back into the motel office and didn’t waste time. That was something of which they no longer had. “What have you decided?”
“Bob believes that we either all go or all stay. No in—between,” Chuck told her, but didn’t add he was not of like mind.
“That makes sense. Trying to carve out an existence here is a job for more than half of us as it is. I wouldn’t like to try with any less.” Kath vindicated Bob’s appraisal of the situation. As someone who has been prepared most of her adult life, she more than anyone would know.
“The tough question, of course—” Chuck started but Kath finished.
“If we put it to a vote do we honor the result?”
“A hole in one,” Riley told her.
“We may never see another sub or large ship ever again. We can’t sail that damn catamaran that far. And who’s to say after the sub gets to Australia and then for one reason or another can never sail again? Maybe the government there confiscates the sub and uses the power plant.” Kath eyeballed the others, then shrugged. “Hell, how do we know?”
Finally, Chuck spoke his piece on the subject. “As much as I wanted to talk this captain into waiting a few more days at least, I believe deep inside that Elliot and the others won’t be coming back. It’s hard for me to say—I love that boy as if he were my own. And Tom was a great friend. I can say that I’m in two minds over this and will abstain from the decision-making process. We’ve all been robbed of their company far, far too soon.”
Kath went over and put her arms around her man’s waist. She knew the big, tough guy wasn’t made of steel, like some thought.
“He’s my nephew, and it’s hard on me too,” she said as tears rolled down her cheek. “But I’m with you… I don’t think he’s coming back either.”
Chuck cradled her in his arms as her tears turned to full-on crying. Tears formed in Chuck’s eyes as well, and Riley was seen putting a handkerchief to his.
Bob bit down on his lower lip before he said what had to be said, but it was far from easy. “I think we should still put it to a vote—to be fair. But I for one recommend we all leave with the submarine.”
“I agree,” Riley said, his voice croaky from emotion.
Chuck looked up glassy-eyed, first at Riley, then at Bob, then to Chess.
He nodded, just once then took Kath in one arm and left the room for their quarters.
There wasn’t anything else to say.
Chapter Nine
Against All Odds 6
After three days of almost relentless rain, Elliot and Jerry finally got going once more on their journey. A diet of jerky, beans, and water had both shitting through the eye of a needle with at least one pair of underwear having been thrown out. They found some pots and pans in the abandoned house, which would be useful should they ever get to cook anything real, but for now made great tools to scoop the water from the floor of the car.
“I should have parked inside the garage,” Elliot said as he looked through the missing door. “Hope the rain hasn’t damaged the wiring.”
Once cleaned out, Elliot used the hotwiring technique Chuck showed him, and the old Jeep fired up on the first go.
“The old cars, Elliot, they still work better than the new ones.”
The sun was out and quite warm for this time of the day. Steam could be seen rising from the surrounding fields, which seemed appropriate.
Hell on Earth. Elliot thought, and not for the first time.
“Then let’s hope the old car can get through that.” Elliot pointed to the muddy driveway.
“Maybe stay on the grass till we get to the gate?”
“Yeah, that sounds like a plan.”
The sleeping bags were rolled up and the backpacks were loaded—they were on their way. There was just one hairy moment as the Jeep slid sideways on the grass and Elliot banged the side of his head on the window. The moment they were back on Clear Lakes Road, Elliot stopped the car and got out.
“Here, you can drive for a while!”
Jerry began laughing as they swapped over.
“What’s so funny?”
“You, my friend. You calmly line up hideous foamers and shoot them, but get out of sorts after a few side-spins!”
“Yeah well, I only have one good eye at the moment,”
“I’m just teasing you, Elliot. How’s the eye coming along anyway?”
“I haven’t checked if I can see out of it, but it’s not hurting,”
“We’ll need to look at it soon, my friend.”
Elliot nodded in agreement then changed the subject to their immediate concern. “I don’t think it’s wise to head through Mountain Home and Boise.”
“Why’s that?”
“Fallout—radiation levels, and God knows how many foamers are still active in Boise. I’m sure the blast didn’t get them all.”
“You’re right but, which way?”
“We have to go south through Nevada, out to California, then Oregon. It will be longer, but safer. If we go through Mountain Home, we’ll be dead in a few weeks for sure, even if we don’t see another foamer.”
“Gimme a look at that map.” They had found a map of the North-West United States inside the farmhouse which would be more than handy for their preparations. “Okay, we can take Interstate 84, the US-30 through Buhl, which will take us back to the 93 and into Nevada. It’s the only way to avoid Mountain Home for good.”
“Then let’s get cooking!” Elliot said from the backseat, relieved they wouldn’t be going through Mountain Home.
“When we get back on the highway, we should look for a better car—a faster one. We lost a lot of time back there, and we need to make it up.”
“Yep, and one with all doors attached.” Elliot said before laughing, then added. “I’m sure glad you found me, Jerry, I like the way you think. You’ll be a welcome addition to our little clan and you’ll love Chuck.”
“Chuck’s the one you told me about, right?”
“Yeah, he knows a lot of shit about stuff, y’know.”
“Ex-military did you say?”
“I don’t know. He gives that impression, but he’s never said and I’ve not asked. If he wanted to tell me…” Elliot shrugged.
“Sounds like he helped you out big time, huh?”
“Yeah, sure did. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for him. And now you.”
“Thanks, Elliot. I’m glad I found you, too—for many reasons, but the fact that you’re a good guy is a bonus. Now, while I get us back to the 93, take the map and look for directions.”
“Right.”
Less than a minute later, Elliot had a plan. “Okay, check this, Jerry. We head straight down the 93 to a town called Wells in Nevada and from—”
“Wells? Yeah, I know that place, go on.”
“…from there, we get onto Interstate 80, that will take us all the way to Reno and then California if we want. But that’s heading a bit south by then. I’m thinking we can take the…let me see,” Elliot turned the map over, “yeah, we can take the 95 at a place called Winnemucca, which will take us into Oregon.”
“Winnie-what-the-fucca?”
“Yeah.” Elliot laughed at Jerry’s twisting of the town’s name. He enjoyed his new companion’s company. “Something like that!”
“Okay, okay,” Jerry said between chuckles, “after we get to Oregon, where to from there?”
“Let’s worry about that when we get there, eh?” One step at a time, it’s how Chuck would play it.
Jerry nodded. It was a good move not to get to far ahead in their planning—there was no guarantee they would get that far. Jerry reminded Elliot to keep an eye out for a decent car, but so far, the roads were empty of any vehicles. Neither expected to see any on the back roads they were now on. It wouldn’t be until they reached the 93 and the few roadside diners and truck stops where any vehicles would become available to them.
“A rubber hose.”
“What did you say, Elliot?”
“We need a rubber hose to siphon gas from the car and any others we find along the way.”
“Yeah, you’re right, but where?”
“A garden hose will do. You got a knife with you?”
“Yeah, on my belt.”
Up ahead at the crossroad, where they would come out onto the 93, there was a small cluster of houses around a gas station that looked like it had been abandoned long before the foamer plague.
“Stop up here, Jerry. There has to be a hose in one of these houses.”
The fires that had swept through the state at a ferocious level hadn’t touched this area. The further south they went, the less fire damage there seemed to be.
“How did you survive the fires, anyway?” Elliot asked.
“For most part, it never made it into Boise proper. In a few small spots, a gas station or two erupted, but many of the houses close to the city went untouched by flames. Houses further out didn’t fare so well, especially north of Boise. There was horrific smoke damage and many perished from smoke inhalation, I can tell you that. I had a cellar and stayed under there for the most part. The fire was more dangerous than the foamers—they hadn’t reared their ugly heads at that stage.”
Jerry stepped from the Jeep, grabbed his rifle, and kept watch as Elliot climbed from the back.
“Let’s try this place.” Elliot took the nearest house.
No luck. No garden hose and no garage. They tried the next one across the dirt road. Again, nothing. But there was a small tool shed in the back.
“What about in there?” Jerry walked over and grabbed the door of the shed.
“Hang on, Jerry!” Elliot rushed up to get in position. He drew his revolver and when ready, nodded to Jerry.
Elliot drew in a breath and held it, his finger just outside the trigger guard, ready. “Looks clear!” he said, after Jerry flung the door back.
The tool shed was empty of foamers, and they soon found a garden hose as well as few five-gallon fuel cans. Jerry pulled his knife and cut several lengths of hose—never hurt to have a spare.
“All right, now let’s find us a decent set of wheels!” Elliot slapped Jerry on the back. They were making good time and if they could avoid foamers and armed gangs, they could make it to Portland—or at least the outskirts—by just after nightfall.
It would mean a lot of things would have to fall their way. Many, many things.
Against All Odds 7
Back on Highway 93, it wasn’t long before they came across a truck stop and diner.
“Jesus, would you get a look at that mess,” Jerry said, his voice jittery from the cold wind that blew in through the missing door.
A tanker truck lay sprawled on its side near the gas pumps and the prime-mover had also been tipped over. A car had rammed through the plate-glass windows of the service office and now sat halfway-in, with both doors ajar. Shattered glass and paper littered the concrete driveway, but it was the body of what appeared to be a male hanging out of the driver’s side that caused most interest.
Jerry pulled into the truck stop but stayed a good distance from the tanker and the late model Impala.
“Foamer?”
“I don’t know, can’t tell from here,” Elliot said, easing himself out the back. “You keep the rifle ready, okay?” Though Elliot loved the power of the big Magnum revolvers, he found himself wishing for a shotgun once more.
“Okay, but stay to one side in case I have to use it.”
“You got it. But you know,” Elliot saw an indication this was no foamer the closer he got to the body, “I don’t think we need to worry, not with this one anyway.”
“What makes you say that?”
“He’s got a gun in his hand.”
“And what does that have to do with it?” Jerry stood and asked.
“Foamers don’t need guns, Jerry.”
It took a moment before the obvious hit him, but Jerry responded quickly. “I know that.” Then gave Elliot a wink.
Sure you did. Elliot smiled back. “Come on, let’s have look and see what happened here.”
On closer inspection, it was clear the driver of the blue Chevy Impala that wasn’t in a drivable condition—had been shot in the head. There was a small entry hole in his forehead and a large exit wound at the back. Dried-out brain and bone matter were splattered all over the back of the seat. The front of the car was raised a foot or so in the air, having knocked over a confectionery stand when it crashed through the w
indow. On the opposite side of the car, in a pool of dried blood, was another body, presumed to be a male. The weather-beaten texture and discoloration of their skin made it difficult to tell.
“A shotgun!” Elliot exclaimed.
Near the second body, a sawed-off, double barrel 12-gauge shotgun lay to one side of the dried blood. Elliot calmly walked over and bent down to pick up the shotgun, but paused to consider the face of the deceased. Dead, dried, hard skin. It was enough to make his stomach gurgle as it reminded him of the jerky he’d practically been living off for the last few days.
Suddenly, the eyes of the dead man shot open and stared straight at Elliot.
“Holy shit!” Elliot reeled back.
“Elliot, what’s wrong? Are you—” Jerry called as he rounded the rear of the car. “Holy fuck!”
The undead creature crawled along the ground, one hand after the other, as it attempted to latch onto Elliot. The foamer—who apparently couldn’t walk—emitted horrid grunts so low, they must have begun from its bowels—or from hell. It made a desperate lunge after Elliot, who backpedaled on his hands and feet.
“Shoot Jerry, shoot!”
Jerry took aim and fired a single round from his Remington rifle into the head of the foamer. The 7.62x51mm projectile ended the crawler’s day before it had begun.
“Shit, that was close,” Jerry said.
“You’re not telling me anything new. But these foamers are changing by the moment. This one didn’t have the all-red or-white eyes of the others.”
“Anyway, we got ourselves a shotgun and,” Jerry considered the back seat of the car, “there’s two boxes of shells in the back.”
Beyond the Brink_Toward the Brink IV Page 23