Roads Less Traveled | Book 5 | End of the Road

by Dulaney, C.

  Mort grunted. “If I had to guess, I’d say a metaphorical flood. He saw a horde of gabs attacking.”

  “But why would—” Brad stopped. “Gibson drowned. Or will. That’s why I asked if she was at home.”

  Adams stopped beside him and waited. Finally, Brad turned to him.

  “Did Gibson fall to the gabs?” Brad asked.

  “Yes,” Adams answered.

  ✽✽✽

  They rose with the sun, Adams slower than the other two. Mort watched him like a hawk for any sign of his condition worsening, but the younger man seemed to be moving around a little better each day. He bruises had faded to a sickly green, and he didn’t wince and hold his ribs as often. Brad kicked dirt onto the fire until it went out, while the others rolled up the blankets and tied them up. Adams staggered around a few times, rubbed his eyes, but hadn’t had much to say yet. Brad and Mort kept throwing looks at each other, neither wanting to bring up the possibility of what they’d be walking into when they got to their destination.

  Adams had done well in shooting their supper for the last few days. But now they were out of ammo, and out of meat, though there hadn’t been that much to go around to begin with. For supper the day before, they’d dug around under treefalls for worms and other shit Mort would rather not stick in his mouth. They’d found a handful, enough to keep them going. Small streams and runs came off the hills and mountains all around them, so water hadn’t been a problem at all. Mort was very thankful for that. They didn’t have anything to boil it in, but they knew to drink from areas where it was running fast, or over rocks and things like that. Jeff, at the Fort, had stressed that lesson over and over.

  They’d walked from sunup to sundown, eating just enough squirrel or rabbit to keep them alive. They tried to sleep in the old, ratty blankets on the hard ground for four nights straight, but the weather was turning and getting colder.

  The sun didn’t stay out for too long. They made it about ten miles before big dark clouds creeped in overhead, then another mile before the rain came. They hadn’t said much to each other since breaking camp, and they didn’t now. They just stopped in the road, looked up at the sky, then at one another, and headed over to the woods.

  A flash of lightning, a crack of thunder, and the rain came down in sheets. They were soaked through by the time they got under the trees.

  “Probably not a good idea to be hugging this thing!” Brad yelled to be heard. The three stood huddled underneath a large locust tree.

  Mort pointed and gestured as he said, “Better to be here than out there!”

  Adams’ face scrunched, his eyebrows drew together tightly, and he stared down the road. The water running from his hair covered the fact that he’d broken out into a sweat. Brad stepped closer to Mort so he could lower his voice.

  “This probably won’t last long, not this kind of rain. You want to stay in the trees and wait it out, or go?”

  Adams’ pursed his lips and squeezed his eyes shut. A quick burst of air made its way out his nose and his hands started shaking.

  Mort leaned into Brad and said, “We have to keep moving. We need shelter, food, and sleep. Can’t get that out here.”

  Adams dropped to his knees and blood dribbled from his nose.

  “Shit,” Mort hissed. He and Brad grabbed Adams at the same time and held tight to the man. “Stop it!” Mort shook him. “We don’t need help that bad, boy. Stop, before you kill yourself!”

  Adams raised his head and blinked his eyes several time. “There’s a town, right down there.” He jerked his chin in the direction they’d been going before the storm hit. He wiped his nose and stared at the red smear on his hand.

  Brad took Adams by the shoulder and squeezed. “Just breathe, man. Okay? And don’t do that stupid shit.” He laughed and glanced at Mort. “Get out of your head, okay?”

  Adams eyes drifted around, unfocused. They finally landed on Brad and he squinted. His head wobbled. Blood dripped.

  Brad brought his other hand up and cupped the side of Adams’ head. He leaned in close and shook him once more. “Hey, c’mon, man. You did good. You don’t need to do anymore, alright?”

  Adams slowly bobbed his head up and down. “Yeah,” he said, his voice gruff and raspy.

  “Yeah.” Brad pulled him closer and wrapped one arm around his back. To Mort, he said, “Let’s rest a few minutes. We can’t get any wetter.”

  Mort agreed a little too quickly. Brad noticed Mort rubbing a nail between his fingers. He must’ve picked it up along the road somewhere. Mort mouthed the words Close one. Brad grimaced and tightened his hold on Adams.

  ✽✽✽

  When Adams had said, “Right down there,” it turned out to be another day and a half of hard walking. More than once they cussed the mountains and hills and their scavenged shoes. None of them were the right size and they all had blisters on their feet and ankles. The determined walk they had when they left the gated community had turned into a slow limp.

  “It’s a good thing we don’t have blood on us, or someone might mistake us for zombies and shoot our stupid asses,” Adams said. The rubber of their shoes scratched along the pavement.

  “Well,” Brad said. He looked over Adams’ shirt. “You have blood on you. Maybe they just shoot you. Give us some warning so we can start yelling.”

  “Har, har, you’re so funny.” Adams rubbed at his chest and his eyes darted to the trees.

  “Hey,” Brad went on. “Not my fault you gave yourself a nosebleed.” He turned his eyes back to the road and focused on putting one painful step in front of the other. He made his voice sound rough. “Damn, sorry, mister. I thought he was a zombie.” Then he changed back to his normal voice. “Nah, it’s alright. He had a clotting problem.”

  Adams couldn’t stop the laugh before it came out. “Shut up, asshole.”

  Mort walked behind the two, rubbing his nail. A smile began to spread across his face.

  Brad continued raising and lowering his voice, impersonating a pretend conversation. “I had me an aunt once, had a clotting problem. Yeah, what happened to her? She’s a zombie.”

  He and Adams laughed pretty hard at that one.

  “Boys,” Mort said. “Look up ahead.”

  The town of Matias came into view around the bend of the road. Adams and Brad staggered to a stop and stared.

  “Is this the town you mentioned?” Brad asked. He wiped sweat from his forehead.

  “Yeah,” Adams panted.

  “It’s Matias. I remember it now. Her driveway should be right around here somewhere.” Brad turned and looked at the woods to their right.

  “I think we passed it,” Mort said. He came up alongside the boys and put his nail back into his shirt pocket. He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “Back that way, maybe half a mile.”

  Brad spun on him. “What? Why the hell didn’t you say so?”

  Mort shrugged. “I didn’t really know what we were looking for. And we were kind of distracted. You know, keeping our feet moving and not falling over from exhaustion?”

  “For chrissake, Mort. I told you we should be getting close.” Brad ran a hand over his hair and stared down the road, then he looked back at Matias. “I want to get off my feet so bad it’s not funny.”

  “Hey,” Adams said and stepped up next to him. “It’d be stupid to make camp here when her place is like, right up there.” He pointed.

  Brad put his hands on his hips and stared up at the mountain. “Shit,” he whispered. Then he dropped his head. “Alright. Let’s get moving.”

  Adams laughed and patted Brad’s back. “Think about it this way: the sooner we get there, the sooner we can get off our damn feet and get something good to eat.”

  Brad snorted. “You’ve never had Kasey’s cooking.”

  “Worms, Brad. We’ve been eating worms.”

  “You should like her cooking, then.”

  Adams made a face that made Mort laugh. “Come on,” he said. “Driveway’s just down there.”<
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  The ditch and hillside were so overgrown they could barely see the gate at the end of the drive. Two tire tracks were barely visible, so it’d been some time since anyone had driven in or out. That made sense to Mort. Everyone he knew these days got around on horseback. Well, everyone he used to know. The old fencing that stretched out from either side of the gate was beaten and torn down from fallen tree branches and probably deer jumping through it. Mort hoped the downed wire hadn’t been caused by a swarm.

  The sun pierced the thick canopy overhead. They limped and stumbled along the rocky and uneven ground. It barely resembled a driveway, but judging by the increasing number of rocks and boulders all around, Mort wondered if it had ever really resembled one. It was basically just a pathway cut through the trees, wide enough for a truck. And as rough as the ground was, it’d have to be a four-wheel drive. The ground gradually inclined as they walked, never becoming steep but having enough slope to make them stagger around even worse. Mort was pretty sure his feet were bleeding at this point.

  “Up ahead,” Brad said. He stopped and panted, bracing his hands against his knees. Adams came up alongside, breathing just as hard, and looked to where Brad had gestured. A house, left side of the driveway, looked like it hadn’t been lived in for quite a long time.

  “That her place?” Adams asked. “No.”

  Brad shook his head. “That’s her neighbor’s house. Never met them, but doesn’t look like anyone lives there.”

  Mort finally caught up, wheezing and holding that nail in his hand. “Jonah.” He jerked his chin up the mountain. “Close.” He huffed some more. “Two others with him.”

  Brad and Adams helped Mort over to a large boulder jutting up out of the ground. He sat down, hard, and covered his mouth and nose with his hand. It wasn’t long before his breathing slowed, and he nodded to the boys. Brad smacked Mort’s arm and stepped back out into the drive. Adams joined him and they looked up the mountain.

  “So,” Brad said quietly. “We got Kasey, Jonah, and one more up there. Right?”

  Adams nodded. “Yeah.”

  Brad kept his voice low. “I don’t know how many were in Gibson, but for only three to make it out?” He shook his head again and a lock of sweaty hair fell into his eyes.

  Adams’ tone matched Brad’s. “You saw how those fuckers went through the Fort. Like a meat grinder, man.”

  “Yeah,” Brad said. “Yeah, I know. But Kasey. Jonah, too, I guess. And what Guard was with them. They’d have planned for it, figured out what to do, how to stop them. I know she would’ve. And they were still overrun.” He ran the back of his hand across his forehead. “How the hell do we fight something like that?”

  Adams turned to face him. “Maybe we don’t. Maybe this is just how it is now.”

  Brad took a breath to argue, but Mort interrupted. “Alright, boys. I caught my wind, so let’s get the rest of the way before I decide to lay down right here and quit.” The older man pushed in between the other two, hands braced on his hips, chin up and staring toward the top of the mountain.

  “Damn, Mort.” Brad caught Adams eye. “You look like you need a cape.”

  “Yeah,” Adams said. “Puff up your chest a little more, maybe fly our asses up there and save what’s left of our feet.”

  Mort deflated and growled. “Alright, alright. Smartasses.” He shoved them away and moved on up the road.

  Brad and Adams shared a chuckle and followed behind.

  Sitting in a tree stand twenty-five feet above their heads, dressed in camo and armed with a bow, Jake keyed his walkie twice. The bare skin of his hands, neck, and face were painted, so from the ground he was invisible. He lowered his hand from the walkie attached to his shoulder and remained silent, eyes on the three men staggering toward his home.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Hand me another nail, would ya?” Kasey said. She and Michael were busy nailing up one of the last two sheets of plywood along a passageway they’d built between the largest cabin and the next smaller cabin. Jonah stood watch close by and played the role of helper.

  “Yeah.” Jonah dug around in an old, moldy cardboard box that’d been stored in the cellar underneath the storage shed. He pulled out a few nails and handed them to Kasey.

  “Thanks.” She took a second to wipe some sweat from her forehead before it had a chance to make it to her eyes, then braced the upper corner with her forearm and hammered the nail into place.

  Michael finished with his corner and stepped back. “This should do. Jonah?”

  Jonah stepped back a few paces and studied the entire passage. One more sheet needed to be nailed up to complete it, but otherwise it looked sound. Behind the plywood were two-by-fours, mostly scraps nailed together from what they could find in the barn. Spaced sixteen inches apart, it would be sturdy enough. They only needed to stay concealed, and this would do that. If they’d wanted something to stop a group of terminators crashing into it, they’d have moved off the mountain and behind a big fucking wall somewhere.

  Jonah nodded. “Yep, oughta do.” He pointed to the end. “Get that up, and we’ll call it quits.”

  Michael took a deep drink of water and pulled a rag from his back pocket. He wiped his face and blew out a breath. “Good. Maybe later we can run into Matias, see if we can find more material to connect the other cabin. Then we can move between all three without you up our asses twenty-four-seven.”

  Jonah smirked and pulled his tobacco pouch from his jacket pocket.

  Kasey hit the nail one more time, driving it home, then looked around for another sheet of plywood. “Alright, you rested up, princess? We’re about done, so let’s get to it.”

  Michael gestured to himself and widened his eyes. “Princess? Me?”

  Kasey smiled and walked over to the pile of lumber scraps. She grabbed a corner of plywood. “Yeah, you.”

  Michael joined her. “Aw, you make me feel pretty.”

  Jonah, also smiling, shook out some tobacco into a small square of paper and tucked the pouch back into his pocket. He turned as he worked, putting his back to them. His eyes flicked up and scanned the area every few seconds. It’d been quiet for the past few days. A pretty big group of terminators had passed through Matias on his last run into the small town, but none had ventured up the mountain. He truly hoped it would stay that way, that they hadn’t made a mistake staying there. The others thought it was a good idea, that if they just stayed quiet and out of sight, and kept Jonah within spitting distance, they’d be safe. Hole up and keep their heads down until the team Torrez had sent got there. How long that would take, none of them knew. They avoided that topic.

  For the most part, Jonah agreed. But he knew as well as they others did, they were eventually going to go stir crazy, cooped up together in tight quarters. That was the main reason for the passageway between cabins. The four of them would be able to spread out a bit and get out from underneath each other’s feet, while still staying out of sight in case there did happen to be any terminators up on the mountain.

  He also knew it was only a matter of time before Kasey would get the itch to move on. And she’d scratch it. She always did. It was one of the things they had in common.

  Michael and Kasey worked together on the last sheet of plywood, each on a corner and nailing it into place. The walkie fastened to the waist of Michael’s pants clicked twice. They froze, hammers in mid-strike, and stared at each other, waiting for another click. It didn’t come.

  “People. Might be Torrez’s men,” Michael said.

  “Might not be,” Kasey said.

  Michael dropped his hammer and looked toward the end of the driveway where it broke through the tree line. He pointed to the smaller cabin. “Kasey, get in there on the rifle. Jonah?” Michael said, walking toward the main cabin.

  Jonah nodded, rolling the cigarette paper between his fingers. “Yep. I’ll greet ‘em.”

  Kasey and Michael shared a look, then split off into the cabins. Gus had been sleeping on the couch w
hen Michael burst through the door but the dog made no sound. He just tensed up and watched. Michael grabbed the rifle that rested next to the small kitchen window. He slid it open and rested the barrel on the sill, taking aim at the end of the driveway. Next door, Kasey did the same. She knelt in front of the living area window, the barrel of her rifle held steady on the same spot.

  Jonah took a few steps backwards, closer to the porch of the main cabin, in case he had to duck and run. They hadn’t come across anyone at all since Gibson fell. Michael tried every day to raise someone on the radio, but no one ever answered. As far as they knew, everyone in the area was dead. Or they’d escaped and run off to parts unknown. Most likely, they were all dead.

  It wasn’t long before Jonah heard gravel and leaves crunching. It didn’t sound like normal steps. They weren’t even and steady. His gaze sharpened on the wood line surrounding the driveway.

  Crunch-drag, crunch-drag.

  A line formed between his eyebrows. The steps sounded like the dead, but Jake had keyed his radio twice, not once. The noise staggered and spread apart; more than one pair of feet. They were hurt, most likely. Injured, stumbling around.

  The first to appear was a man, about the same age as Kasey. His hair was dark and shaggy, shoulders broad, and he was of average height. The most striking thing about him was that he carried no weapons. Or at least none that could be seen.

  Jonah froze, fingers at mid-roll on the cigarette he’d been working on.

  Close behind came a short, round, older man, being helped along by a younger fella, maybe younger than Jake but not by much.

  A raspy, hitching sound came from Jonah. It almost sounded like hiccups.

  He was laughing.

  Kasey fell through the door of the small cabin, rifle hanging at her side. She stumbled along and stopped next to Jonah, staring at the first man that’d just appeared out of the woods.

  “Holy shit,” she whispered.

  Michael joined them, the barrel of his rifle shaking a bit through his confusion. He glanced back and forth between Jonah, Kasey, and the three men slowly approaching. Kasey’s mouth hung open and Jonah quietly laughed.