*****
The camp bustled with activity. A group of children played hide-and-seek amongst the trees, laughing and giggling. Over by the picnic tables, those assigned to meal preparation were already getting ready for the first dinner shift. Jules couldn't get over how well-organized the camp was.
Jules, Addy, and the deputy stood in the shade of the trees near the picnic table area.
It struck Jules that there weren't many teenagers in camp—lots of younger children, but few teens. Few seniors as well.
Dallin had recovered from his moment on their hike and was in a good-natured mood once again. The reason for his "moment" piqued Jules' curiosity.
"How many people are there in camp?" Jules asked.
"Um, one-hundred and s-s-sixteen," he answered. "Mayor Nichols, he keeps a list. There, uh, used to be four-hundred and fifty-eight of us. Th-That was before the virus hit. We lost a lot of people."
Jules decided not to press him.
The sheriff walked toward them accompanied by another man. A golden retriever with a light tawny coat trotted next to the man. The man was the same size and build as the sheriff, around six-feet tall, but his appearance differed night and day from that of Heath Conway. Conway was always scrupulously neat in his appearance. Even his wild blond hair seemed to be corralled and groomed into place.
The other man had a rough, weathered look like someone who spent a lot of time outdoors. Jules wondered if this was Caleb. His face and hands were reddish brown from the sun, and he had a web of fine lines cut outside his eyes. His shoulder-length brown hair had been streaked by the sun, and he had it combed straight back and gathered into a pony tail. A few rebellious strands stuck out here and there. He had a full beard that likely hadn't been trimmed in ages. A smudge of dirt the size of a thumb print dirtied his right cheek. He wore baggy cargo pants and a cream-colored henley. The placket was unbuttoned and wispy chest hairs sprouted from the top of it.
"Heath. Caleb," Dallin acknowledged as they approached.
"Jules," Sheriff Conway said. "I want you to meet Caleb Sanderson. He's the man you'll be going on the supply runs with. Caleb, this is Jules Vandevelde."
Sanderson gave Jules a cursory once-over without changing his expression. "This is who you got to replace Joel?" he asked.
Sanderson's dog crept forward, head down, and sniffed Jules' leg. Jules wasn't used to dogs, but she grazed the dog's head with her fingertips and the dog licked her hand.
"She'll be fine, Caleb. She can handle herself."
"Yeah. Guess we'll see," he said. "See that table over there?" he asked, pointing to the nearest picnic table.
"Yes, I see it," Jules answered.
"8:30 tonight. We'll meet up then. Make sure you're on time. You'll meet the others and we'll go over the plan for tomorrow morning."
Caleb Sanderson's face had a fixed, inexpressive quality.
Sanderson suddenly noticed Addy, and he stared at her as if bewildered.
"This is Addy, Caleb," Sheriff Conway told him. Sanderson's face tightened. He stared at Addy intensely.
Addy stiffened and her shoulders shrunk inward. She looked to Jules for help.
It appeared Sanderson was about to say something but the words had gotten stuck in his throat and he couldn't get them out. Without saying a word, he turned and walked away and his dog chased after him.
Jules was at a loss. She gave Sheriff Conway a nasty look. "What the hell was that?"
He raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Calm down, Jules. It's all right." He said it as if he were talking to a child. "Nothing to worry about here. Caleb's okay." He glanced up at the sky as if the sky might help him explain Caleb Sanderson to Jules. "Caleb's not a real social person. Spends most of his time hunting up in the mountains. Probably spends more time at the hunter's cabin than he does at his own house. I know. I get it. Caleb can come off a little abrupt sometimes. I guess we're just used to Caleb around here. He'll grow on you. I promise. Keep in mind, he just lost one of his guys."
Conway paused and took a breath. "Look. I'm going to tell you something about Caleb, Jules," he said, his voice turning serious. "Caleb will do whatever's necessary to keep you out of harm's way. Whatever it takes. You can count on that. Caleb might be rough around the edges, but there isn't anyone around here who's more competent when it comes to supply runs. And, by the way, maybe it's time you started calling me Heath."
Jules was hardly satisfied. "Okay, Heath. Why don't you explain to me exactly what happened with Joel, the man I'm supposed to replace?"
"Oh, yeah. About that. I apologize," the sheriff started. "That's my fault. I meant to catch up with you before Caleb got back, but things didn't work out to make that possible.
"As I'm sure you've figured out, Joel is who you'll be replacing. Last trip out, Joel got himself bit. He broke one of Caleb's rules and got himself into a tight spot and he didn't react well. Sophie was his partner, but he was too damn embarrassed to take her with him to the rest room. A real stupid move. Everyone's assigned a partner and you don't go anywhere without your partner. Joel didn't take his partner with him. He was attacked in the rest room. Got bit. It's as simple as that. Not to badmouth the dead, but Joel was never exactly the sharpest tool in the shed. God rest his soul.
"But that won't happen to you, Jules. I think we both know how smart you are. You're going to be fine out there."
Jules changed the subject. "And what was that look he gave Addy all about?"
Sheriff Conway shifted his mouth. He looked off into the woods and shrugged his shoulders. "Like I said, Caleb can be a little awkward sometimes."
He left it at that.
For the first time since Jules had met him, she felt certain Sheriff Conway was lying to her or hiding something.
*****
Jules sat down at the picnic table. As was her custom, she was punctual. The sun languished above a distant mountain range to the west, its rays angled low enough to throw the sun's brightness into the picnic area. Jules felt its heat penetrate the back of her blouse, warming her back. A faint, acrid smell from the barbecue pits lingered in the air.
Caleb Sanderson sat with his forearms on the table, Jules' Glock in front of him. The smudge was gone from his face and his appearance was cleaner. His retriever lay under the table near his feet. There were three other men and a woman at the table, six all together including Jules. Caleb's crew. For the most part, they were a rag tag group except for a young man at the end of the table catty corner from Jules.
Caleb pushed Jules' Glock across the table to her.
"Everyone, this is Jules Vandevelde. I get that right?" he asked.
Jules nodded.
Sanderson held their attention and looked each of them in the eyes with a directness born of authority. "Jules here will be taking Joel's place. She's going to partner with me tomorrow on security detail."
He introduced Jules to the rest of the group. The big man sitting next to Caleb was named Gordo. He was maybe six-three and looked as if he might burst out of his linen shirt at any moment. His forearms resting on the table were shaped like thick ham-bones. Belying his immense size, Gordo had a sparse beard and mustache. When Caleb introduced him to Jules, he smiled shyly at her.
Caleb turned his head in the direction of the man sitting next to Gordo. "This here's Josh. Josh is our computer guy. Josh can do virtually anything with a computer."
Josh nodded at Jules and Jules nodded back.
Josh was the one who didn't seem to fit the group. He was too clean cut looking. Josh wore a maize-yellow cotton shirt with short sleeves. He sat erect, hands in his lap. Even sitting down, it was clear to Jules he was well under six feet. He sported a military buzz cut. His eyes were a dusty sagebrush green, and they were attentive and alert. She guessed Josh to be around thirty.
The man sitting next to Jules was named Cole, a scrawny man in his mid-fifties, not much taller than Jules. He had a pock-marked face and badly thinning hair. An Oakland Raiders' cap sat o
n the table in front of him. He reeked of cigarettes and had been leering sideways at Jules since she sat down. Next to Cole was Sophie, the woman who had been Joel's partner. She was in her late thirties, a plump woman with pale colorless lips. She stared at the tabletop looking miserable.
As for the group, the only thing Jules could be sure about was that Caleb Sanderson was in charge. They all paid deference to him.
"Tomorrow, Sophie, you'll be partnering with Gordo. Cole, you'll be partnering with Josh. The four of you have store duty. Cedar City again. We'll hit the Macey's on South Main about a mile southwest of the freeway."
Cole poked Jules in the arm roughly with the tips of his fingers. "You're that FBI woman, ain't ya?" His voice was scratchy like a sick bird.
"Yes. That's right. I am. And please don't poke me."
Jules kept her eyes locked on him till he sheepishly looked away. But it didn't last long.
"That there's some kinda haircut ya got there, FBI. Pretty short, ain't it? Makes ya kinda look like a boy," he chuckled.
Then he tapped his fingers lightly on her arm as if he were testing her.
Jules turned to face him. "Don't do that again," she told him, keeping her voice calm.
"Cole …" Caleb started.
"Okay, okay," Cole laughed, raising his hands in mock surrender. He turned sideways toward Jules and narrowed his eyes. "Hmm. What the hell's that? Damn. Will you look at that. Hey, FBI, looks like ya got carried away there." He stared at the small bald spot where the patch of hair had been ripped out.
"Uh huh. Right there," he said, and he reached around and tapped Jules lightly on the small bald spot.
Jules gripped the edge of the table with her left hand for leverage. Cole still had his body opened toward her as he snickered. Before he could blink, Jules shot out a short, piston-like strike to his solar plexus.
Cole froze in place, gasping for air, his eyes wide with shock. He made an abbreviated sucking sound as he tried and failed to draw air into his lungs. He turned away from Jules and hunched forward over the table, his hands gripping the edge. Cole's eyes filled with tears and his face turned purple as he fought for air.
"What the hell?" Caleb let out.
Sophie put her hand on Caleb's back to comfort him and glared at Jules.
"He'll be fine in a minute," Jules said, feeling embarrassed.
Cole began to cough as he caught some air. Tears trickled down his cheeks.
Gordo shook his head and grinned. "You asked for it, Cole. And, boy, did she give it to you."
"That's enough," Caleb snapped. He stared incredulously at Jules. "Don't do anything like that again," he said.
Cole coughed some air into his lungs and Sophie rubbed his back.
"You all right, Cole?" Caleb asked, but he didn't wait for an answer. "In the future, you might think about keeping your mouth shut and your hands to yourself."
Cole wheezed a parcel of air into his lungs and started to straighten up. He shot Jules an angry, hurt glance.
"All right. Enough. Five forty-five at the bridge. And no more pit stops on these runs. You got business to take care of, take care of it before we leave. Everyone clear on that?"
They all nodded. Sophie's face brightened to a deep red and she clenched her jaw.
"All right. That's it. Jules," he said, fixing his eyes on her. "I need you to stay a minute. We need to go over the rules. The rest of you can take off."
Sanderson waited patiently until the others had left while Jules sat wondering what she'd gotten herself into. She couldn't wait till the two supply runs were over with. Once they were done, she'd be able to check out George Albrecht's house. That's all she cared about.
"Why in the hell did you have to do that?" he asked her. "Cole's harmless."
Caleb Sanderson waited for an explanation.
Jules sighed. "He was being a jerk and he wasn't going to stop," she answered.
"Yeah. I suppose you're right."
"The rules?"
"The rules are pretty simple," he started. "You can take the Glock with you, but we only use firearms as a last resort. Guns draw more infected to us. We use crowbars. They're real handy. You can fit a crowbar in your belt. I like to carry a crowbar and a knife. You okay with a crowbar?"
Jules didn't care for the idea, but she didn't have a choice. "Sure. That's fine."
"Ever kill any of them?" he asked.
"Yes," Jules answered.
"You use a gun?"
"Yes."
"Ever have to use something else?"
Jules hesitated, the memory rising from its grave. "No," she lied.
"It's a lot different killing them with a knife or a crowbar. You got to get up close. Get 'em in the head. You think you can handle that?"
"If I have to, yes," she said.
"All right. I'll see you get a crowbar in the morning. Another thing. You and I are partners, at least for tomorrow. That means I've got your back and you've got mine. We look out for each other. You hear about what happened with Joel."
"Yes. I heard."
He reached down and scratched his dog behind the ears. "Joel and Sophie didn't follow the rules, and now Joel's dead. You understand?"
"Yes. I get it. We look out for each other."
"No. I don't think you understand at all," he said. "If one of us gets infected, we're responsible for each other. All the way responsible. Like Sophie was responsible for Joel. Now, you get what I mean?"
Jules thought she was catching his drift, but she wanted to make sure.
Caleb Sanderson stared at her with light mossy-green eyes, his face expressionless.
"Maybe you should spell it out," she told him.
"After he'd been bitten, Joel had to be dealt with, and that was on Sophie. Or at least it should have been. Joel let her off the hook and ate a bullet. So, now, you understand?"
"Yes. I understand."
"Think of it as an incentive to follow the rules."
Jules felt a wave of nauseousness rising from her gut, but she didn't show him anything.
"Good. We've got three walkie-talkies, one for each group. That way we can communicate if there's a problem. And just so you know, the infected aren't the only ones we have to look out for out there. There are people out there like us who hit the stores for food and supplies, and they don't like us poaching their territory. We had a run in with a group last week. Fortunately, we saw them coming and got out in time. You and I will be on security detail tomorrow. One of our jobs will be to keep a lookout for other groups. The moment we see anybody coming, everyone leaves. You have to get out right then and there. Anyone gets separated and doesn't get out gets left behind. You need to understand that."
"I get it," Jules told him.
"Our other job tomorrow will be leading any grays in the area away from the store if we have to. Got all that?"
"Yes. Got it."
"Good. You can bring your Glock. Do you have any jeans you can wear? Jeans are safer. Keep you from getting scratched."
"Yes. I have jeans. I'll wear them."
"Okay. I guess we're good to go. See you in the morning."
"Yes. Goodnight."
Caleb scratched his dog's head before standing up. "C'mon, Rusty," he said.
Chapter 8
The Supply Run
The sun had yet to break over the brim of the mountains to the east and the early morning sky was a light cerulean blue. Jules sat with the crowbar Caleb had given her resting on her lap. The crowbar had been painted red and had a rubber handle on the lever end of it. On the other end, the fissures had been filed down to razor sharp points. Jules felt silly with the crowbar and was having difficulty imagining herself bashing one of the grays on the head with it. She would have felt fine using the gun, but it wasn't an option.
Since they'd left Gideon, Caleb Sanderson hadn't spoken a word.
They were in a caravan of three large pickup trucks. Jules rode with Sanderson in the third truck. They'd crossed into the southbound
lanes on I-15 not long after they'd left Gideon. Jules and Caleb were in a gem green Ford F-250. The truck had a thick, wide bull bar attached to its front bumper.
Sanderson was armed with a Glock and a knife, both attached to his belt along with his walkie-talkie. He had his gun holster on his right hip, knife sheath on his left. His crowbar was wedged between the seat and the console. A hunting rifle was perched on a gun rack above the back window.
"We'll be there in ten minutes," he suddenly said, keeping his eyes focused on the road. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," Jules told him, though she felt anything but fine. She had butterflies but would be fine when it mattered.
"You just follow my lead," he told her.
"Yeah. Sure," she agreed, feeling annoyed.
"Once we're there and they get the back door to the market open, they've got twenty minutes. They'll clear the place, make sure it's safe, then grab everything they can. After twenty minutes, everyone leaves. No exceptions. In and out in twenty."
Most of Cedar City was east of the freeway set in a valley at the base of a deep mountain range. The mountains nearest the valley had a steep escarpment, a massive red rock wall the shade of cedar. It was as if the side of the mountains had been sheared off. Jules had never seen anything like it. Behind the cedar wall were tall mountains thick with patches of dark green pine trees. West of the freeway, a desert floor stretched into the distance—another finger of the Mohave. It seemed no matter where she went, Jules couldn't get away from the desert.
The first two trucks slowed to a stop as they entered the freeway exit. Caleb drove another half mile before pulling over. He grabbed a pair of binoculars from the back seat and stepped out of the truck. He surveyed the area west of the freeway for several minutes.
Once back in the truck, he grabbed the walkie-talkie, turned the power on, and pressed the talk button. "Looks clear," Caleb said into the talkie. "Two grays in the front parking lot. We'll take care of them. Other than that, looks clean. You're good to go."
Apocalypse Journeys (Book 2): Finding AJ Page 8