The Survivalist (Freedom Lost)

by Arthur T. Bradley

Jessie pulled her nightshirt over her head and tossed it aside.

  Mason let out a sigh. “Ah hell.”

  Chapter 19

  “A little help here,” Samantha groaned, her voice muffled as she forced one leg out from underneath the weighty beast.

  With his arms still wrapped around the vile creature’s neck, Tanner rolled him to one side.

  “You okay?” he asked, helping her to her feet.

  “Shaken, but not stirred.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  “Another of my dad’s sayings,” she said, testing the tenderness of her jaw.

  Once he was sure that Samantha was okay, Tanner retrieved his shotgun. She did the same, recovering her Savage .22 rifle as well as the Bond Arms derringer.

  Together, they stood, staring down at the beast.

  “What was it you were saying about monsters?”

  Tanner shook his head. “To be honest, I don’t know what that thing is.”

  She seemed surprised. “You don’t?”

  “I suppose you do?”

  “Of course, I do. It’s a were-pig.”

  He chuckled. “A what?”

  “A were-pig. They’re like werewolves, only pigs.”

  “And how exactly do you figure that?”

  “Let’s start with Exhibit A, the fur.” She bent over and pointed to the thick black hair covering its chest. “Next, we have the flat snout and enlarged night-seeing eyes. And finally, there’s the fact that only a silver bullet was able to kill it.”

  Tanner started to say how ridiculous her argument was, but as he stared down at the creature, words failed him. Perhaps the idea of lycanthropes transforming under a full moon were not as farfetched as he liked to believe.

  “I think it’s time we got out of this dump.” He turned and inspected the pile of manure. It would be a dirty job digging a hole large enough for him to fit through. “So, which is it? Dig out through a pile of poo, or take our chances running into another of these beauties?” He nudged the beast with the toe of his boot.

  Samantha opened the Patriot, dumped out the two spent shell casings, and inserted fresh cartridges.

  “I don’t know about you,” she said, “but I’m walking.”

  Tanner expected Sister Margaret to be absolutely gushing with gratitude at his having recovered all four of her missing nuns.

  She wasn’t.

  Instead, she seemed hell-bent on blaming him for one sister being smeared head to toe in manure and the other three having so easily acquiesced to establishing a master race. Between her open disappointment and the stench of Sister Clare, the drive back to the octagonal dairy building was excruciating for everyone involved.

  Tanner pulled up next to Dr. Langdon’s Mercedes and jerked the station wagon to a stop.

  “Out!” he shouted, loud enough that the windows vibrated.

  No one had to be told twice, the nuns piling out of the car like it was on fire. Only Samantha seemed to find the humor in it all.

  “What are you smiling at?” he said, doing his best to maintain his disgruntled demeanor.

  “Oh nothing,” she said, covering a smile.

  The brightness in her eyes was enough to not only douse the fuse but turn the dynamite into a party favor.

  He leaned in close. “Too much?”

  “Nope,” she whispered. “You’re nailing it.”

  Sister Margaret straightened her habit and tipped her nose in the air.

  “Mr. Raines, I believe our time together has come to an end.” Her eyes cut over to the Mercedes. “We can find our way back to the monastery from here.”

  “You sure?” he said.

  “It’s barely thirty miles. I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

  “All right then.” Tanner walked around to the back of the old station wagon and lifted out his and Samantha’s backpacks, followed by the cans of spare gasoline.

  Sister Margaret looked at him, confused.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Just making sure you have wheels. I’m a gentleman, after all.” He popped open the trunk of the Mercedes and began loading their supplies. “We know how nuns are all about the simple life, and we wouldn’t dream of putting you in a situation that compromised your austere values, would we, Sam?”

  Samantha eyed the shiny Mercedes. “Nope.”

  Sister Margaret huffed and motioned for the nuns to load back into the old wagon. After everyone had settled into the car, she rolled down her window and said, “You, sir, are anything but a gentleman.”

  Tanner met her stare. “That part’s true enough. But if it was a gentleman you needed, you’d have ridden over here with Father Paul. Think about that on your drive home.”

  Her squint of contempt dissolved into something closer to mild disapproval. It was as good as he was going to get.

  Sister Mary Margaret offered one final hmpff before driving away.

  Samantha came over and stood beside Tanner, and together, they watched the car turn down the narrow drive and disappear from view.

  “Are all nuns so cranky?”

  “No,” he said slowly. “Just the really good ones.”

  The Mercedes S550 was as nice as any vehicle they had ever driven. With its soft leather interior, piano lacquer wood trim, and Bang & Olufsen sound system, it put new meaning to the phrase “riding in style.”

  Samantha settled back against the supple leather.

  “Good call on the car. I mean it’s only fair, right? We have further to go.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “How far is it anyway?”

  “A hundred miles, give or take.”

  “What do you think Mother will say when we just show up out of the blue?”

  “I don’t know. Hello, maybe.”

  “I think she’ll want to know how Issa got pregnant.”

  “Believe me, she knows how that works.”

  “You know what I mean. Issa will be the first woman from their colony to have a child. That has to make Mother happy because she won’t need to have all the babies herself.”

  Tanner nodded noncommittally, but the more he thought about what Samantha had said, the more concerned he became. He put a little more foot on the gas pedal.

  “Are we suddenly going to a fire?”

  “We need to hurry.”

  “Well, yeah, but we don’t want to miss Issa along the way either. What happened with being slow and careful?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t think she stopped anywhere. She’d know better. I think she’s already at Mount Weather.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense. Issa would know that we were worried about her. I can’t imagine her staying longer than she needed to.”

  “Maybe she wasn’t given a choice.”

  Samantha thought about that for a moment.

  “You think Mother’s holding her prisoner?”

  “I think it’s possible.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Think about it. Mother’s role in the colony is the giver of life. If others could also perform that function, her position of authority would be compromised. She might feel threatened by Issa.”

  “I don’t know… Mother didn’t seem like she was threatened by much of anything.”

  “I don’t know either. But my gut is telling me that Issa may not have read this correctly.”

  Samantha didn’t argue about it. Both of them relied on their gut to keep them out of trouble, and neither tended to unnecessarily question the other’s intuition. If the universe went out of its way to whisper a warning, it was a good idea to cup an ear and listen.

  They continued north, passing through the small communities of Lacey Spring and Tenth Legion. As they entered the town of New Market, subdivisions and small businesses began to pop up on either side of Highway 11. Neighborhoods eventually gave way to a quaint strip of small town restaurants, craft stores, and barbershops, many of which had their windows and doors smashed. At first,
Tanner assumed it was just residual destruction from the outbreak, looters rising up to take what they wanted. It wasn’t until he began to see fresh bodies dangling across broken window frames that he became anxious.

  Samantha noticed it too. “Something happened here, recently.”

  “Yes, but it’s not our concern.”

  She didn’t argue about it. As far as Samantha was concerned, they had done enough righting of the world for one day.

  As they continued on, a series of churches appeared on either side of the street. Methodist, Baptist, Lutheran—all denominations were present and all were equally in ruins. Buildings had been gutted from the inside out, with pews, cushions, and religious artifacts tossed onto their lawns as if by an act of religious defiance. More troubling still were the dozens of bodies lying in front of the Lutheran church.

  Tanner swung the car over to the curb and stopped.

  “What are you doing?” she asked. “You said it wasn’t our concern.”

  “A few merchants killed in their stores isn’t, but a whole congregation butchered on the front lawn of their church might be.” He opened the door but left the car idling. “We don’t want to be driving up on whoever did this.”

  Samantha sighed and pushed open her door.

  “Can’t we ever catch a break?”

  “You’re kidding, right?” he said as they climbed out. “We caught the biggest break of them all. We survived when most of the world didn’t.”

  She nodded solemnly. “True. Plus, don’t forget that we found each other.”

  “Uh, yeah, that too.”

  They strode onto the church’s lawn, eyeing the bodies warily as if expecting them to stand up and give chase. None did. The dead remained dead, and hopefully that would never change.

  Tanner knelt beside the body of a middle-aged woman. Samantha stood behind him, peering over his shoulder. The woman had been hacked with something sharp, a machete maybe.

  “Can you tell how long she’s been dead?”

  He placed the back of his fingers against the woman’s neck.

  “A body might cool down a couple of degrees an hour, depending on the temperature around it. This one’s still pretty warm.” He lifted her arm and it moved freely. “Also, there’s no rigor mortis. My guess is she’s been dead for less than three or four hours.”

  Samantha turned and looked out at the sea of bodies littering the lawn.

  “What could have killed so many people?”

  Tanner found himself wondering the same thing. Except for the lack of scalping, the scene was akin to settlers having been massacred by bloodthirsty savages.

  He moved over to the next body, hunting for more clues. The corpse was that of a young man, fit and strong. He was covered with dozens of deep puncture wounds on his chest, neck, and face.

  “Are those dog bites?” she said, eyeing the wounds.

  Tanner stood up, a deeply troubled look on his face.

  “What is it?” she said.

  “I know who did this.”

  “Who?”

  “Mother.”

  “Huh?”

  “This boy’s wounds are from a nail board, the same kind her soldiers used down in the tunnels.”

  “But why would they be here in this little town?”

  Tanner motioned for her to quiet as he tipped his head slightly. They heard the sound of vehicles approaching. Lots of vehicles.

  “Someone’s coming.” She pointed toward an intersection a few hundred feet to the north. “From that way.”

  Tanner did a quick three-sixty, searching for a place to hide.

  “Inside the church. Hurry!”

  They raced up the steps and darted inside the old building. The double doors had been smashed in, but Tanner managed to push them partially closed. Many more bodies, men, women, and children, lay strewn all throughout the church. Whether they had been worshipping or seeking refuge was impossible to say. All that was certain was that the enemy had no appreciation for the word “mercy.”

  Tanner did a quick survey of the church to make sure that no one was in hiding. They weren’t. Not a single soul had escaped judgment.

  He hurried back to Samantha, who stood peering out through the broken doors.

  “See anything?”

  “Not yet,” she said. “But the engines are getting louder.”

  Tanner checked his shotgun. Four, plus one in the pipe.

  “Are we going to have to fight?” she said, slipping her rifle off her shoulder.

  “I sure hope not.”

  Movement caught her eye, and she leaned around the door for a better look.

  “They’re coming.”

  Tanner stuck his head out. Rounding the corner was a fleet of vehicles—cars, trucks, motorcycles, even a few tractor-trailers. If they had been painted OD green, they could have easily passed for a military convoy.

  “They shouldn’t come this way, right?” said Samantha. “Mount Weather is the other direction.”

  Tanner said nothing. They both held their breath, watching as the lead vehicle came to a stop at the intersection. When it turned north, away from them, Samantha’s shoulders sagged and she let out a sigh of relief.

  “Thank goodness.”

  They crouched in the doorway, watching as vehicle after vehicle turned north. Tanner smiled. It looked like their luck might actually hold for once.

  Until it didn’t.

  A pickup truck with two infected men up front and two in the back, abandoned the convoy and turned south, speeding toward the church.

  “What are they doing?” she said.

  Tanner pulled her back behind the door.

  “Keeping us honest.”

  The pickup rolled to a stop next to the idling Mercedes, and all but the driver dismounted.

  “Keep an eye on them while I look for a way out.” Tanner spun around, and ran along a small hallway that led past several offices. At the end of the hall, he found a second exit, but it had been blocked with chairs, a large podium, and several pews stacked together. Digging out would take time they didn’t have. Their only choice was to hide in plain sight.

  He hurried back to Samantha.

  “We need to pretend to be dead. Smear some blood on you and lie on the floor.”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “Go on. It’s not the first time you’ve hidden with the dead.”

  “No, and that might say something about your parenting skills,” she muttered as she headed toward a pile of bodies at the back of the church. “You need to hide too.”

  “I will.”

  Tanner found a large man with his throat slashed not far from the front doors. A pool of dark crimson blood surrounded him. Tanner lay down directly against the man, his body turned sideways so that he could still see the doorway through squinted eyes. He kept his shotgun pressed between them.

  No sooner had he and Samantha gotten into place than the door burst open. Two of the infected stood in the doorway, one holding a hatchet and the other a large-caliber revolver. The man with the revolver held it clumsily before him with his wrist bent.

  Tanner felt his gut seize. When the hell did the infected start using guns? For that matter, when did they start driving cars?

  One of the men entered the church as the other stood guard in the doorway. He advanced toward the front of the room, carefully looking down each row of pews. When he got to the front, he shouted to his partner.

  “No one here,” he said in a gruff voice.

  The man in the doorway studied the bodies closest to him. He was still ten feet from Tanner, but it was clear that the gig was up. Better to keep the element of surprise.

  Tanner rolled onto his back, swung the shotgun up, and fired. Momentum from the blast sent the man toppling down the stairs as buckshot peppered his chest. Tanner sat up and spun around to see if he could get a clear shot at the other man.

  No good.

  Knowing that the third man would surely be coming up the stairs, Tanner do
ve toward the doors of the church, landing just in time to see him leaping up the steps with a heavy pipe in hand. He stuck the shotgun out in front of him and fired. The blast caught the man under the chin, folding his head back as a fountain of blood erupted.

  Footsteps sounded from behind Tanner, and he whipped around.

  Too late! The hatchet was already poised overhead, preparing to hack into his flesh.

  Pop!

  The infected man jerked as a .22 slug pierced his back. He staggered and wheeled around as Samantha cycled the bolt of her rifle.

  It was the delay Tanner needed. He brought the shotgun up and fired twice. Two fist-size holes opened in the man’s back, and he fell, his blood mixing with those of the churchgoers.

  “What now?” she shouted.

  “Over here!” he said, waving her closer.

  She hurried back to him, carefully hurdling bodies and slippery pools of blood.

  Tanner turned back toward the door, ready for the last of the infected to burst in at any moment. With four shells fired and no way to reload, he had but one left. As long as he didn’t miss, it should be enough.

  Nothing. No sounds of footsteps. No ugly face peeking in.

  Tanner stepped closer and peered out. The pickup sat empty, its driver nowhere to be seen.

  Samantha inched up next to him, her breathing labored.

  “That could have gone better.”

  “They’re dead. We’re not. I count that as a win.”

  “Maybe,” she said, peeking around the door. “But where’s the last one?”

  “How many rounds do you have on you?”

  “Just the four in my rifle. If I’d have known you were going to start a war, I would have brought my backpack.”

  Tanner nodded. “Grab me that pistol, will you?” he said, motioning toward the revolver that the infected man had dropped.

  She went over and retrieved the weapon. It was a stainless-steel Rossi, chambered in .38 Special.

  “When did they start using guns?” she said, handing it to him.

  He checked the cylinder. All six rounds had already been fired.

  “What kind of idiot goes around with an empty pistol?” he said, tossing it away.

  She took another peek out through the door, and when she spoke, her voice was little more than a whisper.