American Revenant (Book 3): The Monster In Man

by John L. Davis IV

  “Was just thinking the same thing, Gordo,” Jimmy answered. Dean and Rick agreed it was strange that even with the noise of the car they had seen no undead moving about.

  After several minutes of slow driving Gordy steered the car onto the short turn-out on the right side of the highway, turning off the car when they were under heavy cover of the trees that went right to the edge of the deep ditch bordering the road.

  The men left their car, quietly gathering their weapons as they all listened intently to their surroundings, hoping to hear trouble before they saw it.

  Gordy carried his Sig P227, and one of the suppressed AR-15’s. Jimmy held a Remington 870 Express 12 gauge shotgun by its pistol grip, moving behind the car to watch as the others geared up. On his hip he wore his chosen Springfield XDM .40 caliber.

  Rick hefted the heavy Accuracy International L115A3. As they moved in toward the armory, Rick would set up and provide overwatch from a distance, while the others would approach close enough to get a good view with binoculars.

  Dean carried only a single pistol, a Kel-Tec P-11 9mm, along with his knife. He preferred hand-to-hand combat, if he could close on an enemy.

  “Check your guards and let’s move,” Gordy said quietly. The men took a moment to check each other’s wrist, neck/shoulder, and shin bite guards, ensuring that each was tightly secured and ready to protect the wearer.

  Rick left ahead of the other men, going east into the woods, following the tree line until he found a safe place to create his hide.

  Those waiting at the vehicle allowed ten minutes for Rick to position himself before moving north towards the armory. A narrow concrete ditch used to control water runoff along the highway provided the men cover as they advanced. The un-mown waist-high grass as well as the wild bushes and shrubs growing along the edge of the ditch worked well with the mismatched camouflage the men were wearing for the operation.

  Gordy’s knee protested as the men crouch-walked slowly along the channel, stopping once they were as close as they dared to get. Electronic red-dot sights were now useless, so many of their rifles had been outfitted with long range optics, which Gordy now used to scan the surrounding area. Both Dean and Jimmy used binoculars to survey the armory.

  “Son of a bitch!” Dean said aloud.

  “Quite, damn it,” Jimmy whispered quickly.

  “Sorry, wasn’t thinking,” Dean said sheepishly. “You guys seeing this? What the hell?”

  “Yeah, I see it,” Gordy said, keeping his voice low.

  Jimmy simply grunted, softly.

  Through their optics the men could see the fenced area around the gated and locked parking lot used for military vehicles. The Mine Resistant Ambush Protected vehicles, commonly known as MRAPs, had been pushed up parallel to the fence, end to end. Every vehicle in the lot, including generator trucks, water transport, and humvees had been lined up along much of the inside of the chain link, including several civilian vehicles.

  The men were most surprised by the still-moving zombies that had been tied up to hang from every line post on the outside perimeter of the fencing.

  “Why would they do that? What’s the point of it, I just don’t get it.”

  “Not a clue, son. Now we know for sure that people are here though. We can’t get a vantage on the main entrance from here, but there’s no cover if we move further out. Let’s just sit tight here for a while, see what happens.”

  They did not have to watch for long before they heard voices drifting from the direction of the large main building. A moment later they could hear the sound of a vehicle starting.

  Dean found it humorous that the driver of the vehicle flicked on the turn signal to signify a left turn on to Huckleberry Drive. Watching the car it suddenly dawned on him that it was the same VW Beetle that Arianna had taken the night Richard had been killed.

  “Dad, Jimmy, that’s our car!” Dean whispered forcefully.

  Both men directed their attention to the small yellow car, watching as it followed the drive through Huckleberry Park, which the armory sat at the edge of.

  “You sure?”

  “It is, Gordy. I recognize it too,” Jimmy offered.

  “Have you seen the truck that took a shot at us?”

  “Not yet, but it could be parked further up, towards the large garage, which we can’t see from this low angle. I could try to move in closer.”

  Gordy and Jimmy both stopped watching through their optics and gaped at Dean. “You can’t be serious, man.”

  “I am serious, Jimmy. We need to know what’s up there. I can stay low, follow the ditch and come up on the side of the building facing the highway. I should be able to stay out of sight and sneak up close enough to get a good look.”

  “Out of the damn question, Dean! I don’t have a death wish, and if something happened to you out here you’re mom would kill every one of us.”

  Further discussion was quelled when they saw that the VW was returning. The tiny car drove slowly, the driver watching all around, as if inspecting the area.

  “Some sort of one man patrol?” Jimmy asked.

  “Don’t know, could be,” Gordy responded. They watched the car pull into the drive and disappear from sight.

  Jimmy slowly panned his field glasses over the lush green of the park. The grass had been kept low, to facilitate the several large gardens that had been planted throughout the open areas of the grounds.

  Minutes after the VW had returned Gordy spoke, saying, “Guys, I have movement. Looks like people walking.”

  Dean and Jimmy watched through binoculars as a small group of people walked across the parking lot and turned onto the narrow street, heading for the park. They counted seven people, five of which carried tools such as garden rakes, hoes, and shovels, while the other two carried fishing poles.

  The people seemed to drag themselves along, shuffling slowly, much like a zombie. Shoulders sagged; chins dipped to chests, eyes stared at the ground as the line of people walked forward. Several wore ragged clothing, as if it were rotting away as they wore it. Three men walked behind them, wearing military battle dress camouflage uniforms and carrying M4A1 carbines which explained the sense of defeat the group emanated.

  “Guys,” Dean said, “you see her?”

  Jimmy and Gordy looked closely at the line of slowly marching people. It took them a moment, but soon they saw a tall, thin woman with stringy, unwashed hair using a garden hoe as a walking stick.

  “Arianna,” Jimmy said, an edge of distaste to his voice.

  They watched silently as the people were marched to one of the large vegetable gardens. Two of the armed men stayed with the gardeners while the remaining guard, which is what the men watching from the ditch felt them to be, broke off and followed the two with fishing poles toward the small pond that was out of the men’s sightline.

  “Forced work detail, you think?” Dean asked.

  “Looks like it to me,” Jimmy said, “though they could be prisoners. Thieves maybe.”

  “I’m not sure I would consider Arianna a criminal type.”

  “Unless you consider stupid a crime, Gordo, then she’s public enemy number-fucking-one.”

  Gordy let the comment pass, understanding Jimmy’s vitriol toward the woman.

  The men were preparing to settle in for a long day of watching when a shot rang out from the direction of the gardens. Binoculars and scope up to their eyes, they scanned the last garden the people were working on.

  Though the guards were too far away to hear it was obvious that they were upset. One of the men kept pointing to something on the ground, and Jimmy took a moment to refocus his field glasses. Just as he made out that they were pointing to the body of an older man, he heard an engine start up at the armory.

  “Dad, that’s the truck!” Dean said, excitedly.

  Dean watched the old truck leave the parking lot and drive towards the gardens, keeping the binoculars on it the entire time.

  “You sure?”

  “Ye
s, it’s the same truck, without a doubt.”

  “Ok, that’s what we needed to know. Let that mess over there calm down a bit, and we can head back. We damn sure don’t want a firefight with these guys. Not right now at least.”

  They watched as the body was thrown roughly into the back of the truck, and the driver headed away from the armory, further into the park. Returning several minutes later the truck drove past the guards without slowing, turning back up into the driveway of the armory building. They were unable to tell if the body was still in the back of the truck.

  “Ok, let’s move out,” Gordy said, turning around and preparing to lead the way back down the concrete ditch.

  “Hang on Gordo, you hear that?”

  “Hear what, Jimmy?” Gordon cocked his head, listening. “I don’t hear…” He stopped, just hearing the sounds of footsteps, many of them, close and coming closer. He was tempted to whisper that no one was to move, but feared that even the faintest noise would draw attention.

  The men made eye contact, communicating silently as only those who have known each other a long time can do. In minutes the men could hear footsteps and low moans directly above them, on the highway. Staying silent they hoped to let the creatures pass and be on their way.

  Their hopes were shredded by the sound of automatic weapons, as the people from the armory began to open fire on zombies that the men hiding in the ditch could not see.

  Chapter 4

  From his hiding spot just inside the tree-line, Rick was able to watch the main armory building, as well as most of the Huckleberry Park area.

  Through his rifle scope he stared at the parking lot surrounded by a fence hung with zombies. That confused him, as well as causing him some concern. The type of men that could do that, no matter their intentions, were the type of people that would do anything to survive.

  Panning his scope over the upper lot he noticed several vehicles sitting close to the front door. An older pickup truck, a severely battered off-road vehicle, and to his surprise he saw the yellow VW Arianna had taken when she had run away from the camp.

  As he watched, two men exited the front doors of the main armory building and stood in front of the VW for a moment, talking. The distance was too great to hear anything, but he could see one man gesticulating, waving his hands at the road, toward the gardens and beyond. The other man, obviously a subordinate, nodded his head several times, possibly affirming orders.

  Both men wore battle dress uniforms, though the one nodding had on an olive-drab t-shirt, which Rick found unusual, not because the man was out of uniform, but because the shirt appeared to be clean.

  The gesticulating man had an M16A2 slung over his shoulder, while the other cradled an M4A1. Both wore side-arms, as well as long-bladed knives.

  The men finished talking, and the one wearing the suspiciously clean shirt climbed into the VW while the other stood watching for a moment, scanning the armory compound.

  Rick smiled when the driver of the Beetle pulled up to the stop sign and flicked on his turn signal, knowing the act was habitual.

  Taking his eye from the scope, Rick watched the car make its way through the park, following the twisting drive all the way to the park exit. The VW returned within minutes, slowly making its way back to the armory.

  Shortly after the driver went back into the building, the man he had been speaking to earlier came out and walked over to the large detached garage. He entered the building through a small door on the side, and moments later the huge bay door was rolled up from the inside.

  Rick was surprised to see a long line of people exiting the building, many with gardening equipment in hand, while two people carried fishing poles. Through the long-range scope it was easy to see a difference between this group and the men walking behind them with rifles.

  The men and their clothes were clean; the men themselves looked well fed and well rested. Arianna was easily recognizable to Rick, but he was appalled by her appearance. She was filthy, her hair matted in places. Her clothes were torn; though she seemed unconcerned that one breast was showing through a rent in the fabric of her shirt. Her face was bruised and swollen; both upper and lower lips were split, surrounded by crusted blood.

  Though clearly alive, the bedraggled group’s shuffling gaits and blank, apathetic stares were all too familiar; they might as well be zombies.

  He pulled back from the scope for a minute, relieving his eye and his back from the hunched position he was cramped into when looking through the eyepiece.

  As the group reached the garden the two with fishing poles veered off toward the small pond, followed by one of the guards. The rest were tasked to work in a large garden very close to Rick’s position. He could watch them easily without the aid of the scope.

  Rick fought to keep his eyes open, as watching the work detail was exceedingly dull until one man dropped the garden hoe he had been using and clutched at his chest. Everyone in the garden turned, with several moving to help the fallen man until one of the guards lifted his rifle, admonishing them to stay back.

  The men holding rifles simply stood there, making no moves to help the man obviously having a heart attack. Rick saw them turn to look at each other, one saying something to other, who laughed loudly at the comment.

  It wasn’t long before the older man lay still, one arm flung out to the side. White, foamy drool dripped down the side of his face, forming a small puddle in the deep green grass.

  Still the guards stood there, watching, waiting. Rick could not understand why they did not put a knife into the man’s skull before he turned.

  Rick sat silently, anticipating the moment when the man would turn. He did not have to wait long. In less than a minute the old man began to twitch, his arms jerking spasmodically, head thumping on the ground. It was not until the man sat straight up, as if he had a rod shoved in his back, that the guards finally acted. One man pulled a knife and walked toward the now-zombified garden worker, when the other snapped his rifle up, placing a single shot into the forehead of the creature.

  Rick heard the one with the knife shout, “What the fuck, man!”

  The shooter just stood there, looking back and forth between the body and his fellow guard. The knife-wielder was still berating the other man and waving his hands at the dead body when Rick heard someone start up a motor at the armory.

  Both men grew silent, looking back toward the armory when they heard the engine fire up. The truck pulled up right next to the two guards, and Rick heard the driver asking “What the hell is going on? You two dick-shits know better than to go firing off when you can use a blade to handle just one of them,” he said, gesturing to the body. “Greer is already pissed about those pricks out in the country; you two jack-asses wanna make it worse?”

  Both men replied by shaking their heads. “Alright then, you two jack-monkeys can load this damn body, I’ll take it to the burn pile.”

  The body was thrown unceremoniously into the back of the pickup by the two guards. The driver pulled away, not seeing the man behind him giving him a one-finger “fuck-you” salute.

  During all of this, Rick noticed that two more men had appeared outside the armory building. Both seemed to be on duty, walking a set perimeter that gave them sight of both the grounds and the highway.

  He heard the sound of the truck returning before he saw it, watching as it parked in a space right in front of the main armory doors. The driver headed for the front door, stopping as he reached for the handle. Rick kept the scope centered on the man, wondering why he was hesitating.

  Suddenly the man shouted, pointing toward the highway, in the direction of the ditch where his friends would be hiding. The two guards walking the perimeter came rushing to the front corner of the building, facing south. Rick was unable to see what they were seeing, but he could tell that they were agitated.

  Unexpectedly, the guards shouldered their rifles and began to fire in the direction they had been watching. Rick saw the driver of the truck run for the
door of the armory, jerk it open, and stick his head in, as if he were talking to people inside.

  Rick’s heart began to pump hard in his chest. He settled in with his rifle, easily placed the crosshairs on one of the men firing from the armory and drew several calming breaths. He couldn’t shoot with any accuracy if his heart was pounding so hard that his hands shook.

  He focused on the target, his finger tensing, bringing the trigger nearly to its breaking point when he realized that the shooting was one sided. If his friends were being fired upon, they would certainly be returning that fire every chance they could. Rick could hear nothing coming from the direction of his friend’s hiding spot.

  Swiveling his rifle slowly, Rick sighted on the area where he knew Gordy and the others were concealed. Before he could get a clear sight picture it was obvious what the men from the armory were firing at.

  The overgrown brush and high grasses along the ditch and the edge of the highway blocked much of the view, but Rick could see what appeared to be the heads and shoulders of twenty-five or thirty zombies walking down the road.

  Bodies fell, disappearing from sight as they dropped past the sight-blocking bushes. Watching through the high-powered scope, Rick could see the bodies jerk as bullet after bullet tore through them. From their distance the men seemed to be having a hard time getting a good head-shot to take the creatures down, though Rick saw a couple gut-suckers lose their heads in a gory splash and spray as several high-velocity rounds found their mark.

  Half of the zombies fell quickly, though Rick could not tell if all of them were dead when they went down. He glanced back toward the armory, seeing that five more men had joined those already outside, making eight people firing down on the approaching pack.

  It wasn’t until he watched as first one, then another, and two more of the undead crashed through the overgrown bushes into the ditch, that he began to feel real fear for his friends.