by Mark Tufo
Brook said, “Sounds to me like the flu or whatever it’s called now is far more dangerous than anyone was reporting initially. I’d bet the government is already planning severe contingency plans if the spread isn’t slowed or stopped soon.”
“What measures do you think they’ll resort to?” Carl wondered.
“I remember when Cade told me about a conspiracy theory web site he checked on occasion. He said there was talk about FEMA already having set aside hundreds of thousands of body bags in multiple locations around the continental United States.”
“Where are they? Did Cade mention that?” Carl asked.
“No. It really disturbed me then. I remember he said that all of the locations were near rail lines…”
“That sure sounds like Nazi Germany and the Holocaust, not our United States government. Wow, really?” Carl intoned incredulously.
“Considering all of the things our government has swept under the rug or just plain lied about, I would put little past them,” Brook said.
“I wholeheartedly agree, little sister.”
Raven announced “I have to go pee,” then asked her mom, “have you checked your phone to see if Dad called?”
“Not in a while. Where is that thing?” Her phone was at the bottom of her bag. She checked it. “No bars, Raven. It looks like there are no new messages either. We’ll have to check again later.”
They pulled over in a deserted Albertsons’ parking lot so Raven could relieve her bladder. The dark store looked like it had recently been bombed. Trash and bodies littered the entryway and most of the ground level windows were reduced to glittering shards on the asphalt.
Raven exited the vehicle while Brook looked on, the shotgun cradled in the crook of her arm. It was the longest two minutes of Raven’s young life as she squatted by the idling SUV.
One of the bodies near the storefront suddenly sat up and clumsily stood erect. Brook looked over at her daughter who was still peeing. “Hurry up. We have company.”
The undead man creakily shuffled towards them. He was badly mauled, his intestines trailing behind him like a pet snake. Brook looked away in disgust. Raven buttoned up her jeans and jumped back into the Escalade in one motion.
For some reason Brook lingered outside of the vehicle.
“Get in Sis!” Carl yelled.
Brook shouldered her dad’s shotgun and cocked one of the hammers. The thing was ten feet from the SUV when Carl blew the horn. Brook jumped and the gun discharged, blowing one frail looking arm off of the middle-aged walker. It kept a slow steady pace, still homing in on Brook.
The first mistake was Carl sounding the horn; the second was Brook missing the headshot. Fumbling to get the second hammer cocked, Brook looked past the intestine-dragging ghoul and counted a number of undead exiting the store.
Raven started screaming as the walkers converged on her mom. Their moaning quickly reached a terrifying crescendo.
Brook steadied her aim and silently cursed the undead being as she pulled the trigger. The shotgun blast pulped the walker’s head; it fell and rolled, twisting itself up in its own entrails. The smells and sounds were overwhelming. Gagging, she hauled herself into the Escalade.
Carl floored it. Ignoring his own rule, he careened over a multitude of the walking dead on his way to the road. His mouth curled up at the corners as he silently scolded himself, Note to self, no more honking the horn, Carl.
Looking over at her brother, Brook noticed his inappropriate grin and asked him to share his thoughts. Carl declined at first. “You almost got me killed back there, Carl!” Brook halfheartedly screamed at him. Carl acquiesced. “I was just mentally scolding myself for honking the horn back there. It won’t happen again.”
“I owe you an apology. It wasn’t the time or the place to test my courage,” Brook said with a sheepish grin.
“Sis, if I’d known this is what it would take for us to get along so well, I would’ve wished for the zombie apocalypse a long time ago… minus what happened to Mom and Dad of course.” Carl immediately wished he could take back his words.
While dodging more walkers, he maneuvered the truck in the direction of Interstate 17 and eventually Fort Bragg.
Chapter 146
Day 2 - Columbia River Gorge, Oregon
The encounter with the sheriff couldn’t have ended better. Rawley followed Cade and the kids off of the highway at the next exit. Old River Road was the name of the route that wound along the east side of the Sandy River. It merged with and then turned into the Historic Columbia River Highway which was completed in 1922, allowing access to the scenic Columbia River Gorge. Many accessible waterfalls and hiking trails were scattered along the next 35 miles. It was beautiful country, lush and green with the shallow Sandy River meandering through the middle of it. It was an enticingly cool body of water that beckoned on a hot day like today.
Distancing themselves from a million potentially infected Portlanders seemed like a better idea than stopping to cool off. There wasn’t a second to waste; travel would be slow on the twisty two-lane blacktop.
Ike’s voice sounded from the backseat of the Sequoia. “Mom and .....” He started to say something and then he broke down and bawled. Once he was finally able to compose himself he finished what he was going to say. “Mom and Dad used to bring us here. I really miss them.” Leo pulled his little brother close and silently comforted him.
After a few minutes of driving they passed a sign that read “Crown Point State Park next left.” Cade steered the truck to the left and parked diagonally across the lines so he wouldn’t get boxed in from behind. Rawley followed his lead and edged the Bronco next to the Sequoia.
A bright red convertible Volkswagen Cabriolet and a beautifully restored, canary yellow Camaro were parked in the Vista House parking lot.
“Stay in the truck and keep the doors locked. Rawley and I will take a look around. Honk if there are any problems,” Cade instructed the boys.
The Vista House was a massive stone building in the shape of an octagon. It had floor to ceiling glass windows that afforded the best views up and down the wide Columbia River.
A pair of attractive young ladies stood by the stone retaining wall. They were looking to the west down the gorge, their long blond hair whipping about their heads. The gorge was famous for its beauty as well as its strong east wind. They were looking in the direction of Portland and taking turns using the type of coin-operated binoculars that are a fixture at tourist traps with a view. One of the girls caught Cade looking her way and asked him if he had any change. He thrust his hands in his pockets and pulled them both inside out. “No I don’t, sorry,” he replied.
“That’s OK, we’ve probably seen enough… It’s just that it looks like Portland is on fire,” the girl using the binoculars said, her face still glued to the contraption.
Her visually stunning duplicate left to find some quarters; she tried to open the double glass doors of the Vista House only to find them locked. “That’s strange, this place is still closed. The sign reads open 9 a.m. to 7 p.m. all days,” the blonde said.
A sixtyish-looking man wearing a powder blue fisherman’s hat emerged from around the building. He wore walking shorts and a long sleeved cotton shirt; his eyes were hidden behind a pair of big bulky “old people” sunglasses.
Cade asked the young women, who appeared to be twins, where they were from.
Almost in unison, the blondes answered.
“I’m Shelly.”
“I’m her sister Sheila; we live in Portland.”
Cade shook their hands one at a time. “My name’s Cade. I used to live in Portland.”
Rawley nodded to both women. “My name’s Rawley, pleased to meet you. Which way are you lovely ladies headed?”
Shelly answered, “Sheila and I came from Hood River this morning. We stayed at the Gorge Hotel last night, got up and had breakfast in the restaurant. The waitress told us about some kind of mass murder that happened last night at one of the big
apple orchards in the valley.”
Then her twin Sheila interjected. “It freaked me out so much that I called our mom. I tried her and a few friends but I couldn’t get ahold of anyone. I thought maybe it was just my crappy cell phone, so when the waitress came back I asked to use the hotel phone. She said the phones had been down since last night.”
The other twin finished the story. “Now we’re both kind of sketched out, the server drops our check and adds that she heard some of the murdered people had been partially eaten.”
At the tail end of the story the older man in the fishing hat walked up and introduced himself as Harry Conrad, and shook hands with everyone.
“I couldn’t help but overhear about people being eaten?” Harry said.
“I think the waitress was just embellishing. Good stories usually equal good tips… right?” Shelly said hopefully.
“Not in my book. I just wanted to add what I saw on the boob tube this morning. Some youths got out of hand yesterday and attacked cops and soldiers and innocent bystanders downtown. It was the craziest thing I have seen since those Kent State shootings. It looked like the National Guard was firing on the crowd.”
“In Portland?” one of the blondes said, her voice laced with skepticism.
“Right there in the Courthouse Square… hell of a sight to watch. The news anchor also alluded to troubles, bite wounds and such, cropping up in some of the emergency rooms in and around Portland…”
The freight train roar of Harley Davidson motorcycles reverberating up the basalt canyon walls from the interstate two hundred yards below the Vista House cut Harry off before he could finish.
Looking over the edge, Cade and Rawley watched the horde of Harley Davidsons and SUVs speed east up the gorge. Cade lost count after 30 and then returned his attention to the conversation.
Rawley nudged Cade and said cryptically while looking at him over the top of his sunglasses, “Looks like the Sheriff opened the road.”
“We better keep our eyes open for those bikers. Chances are that the Sheriff wasn’t left with much of a choice,” Cade said in a hushed voice.
“One man against that group... no way he could deny them passage. Not without a SWAT team,” Rawley agreed.
The thought caused an icy ball to form in the pit of the former Delta Operator’s stomach. He made a mental note to himself: I need to get these kids somewhere and teach them how to handle the guns. We could use more shooters, especially if we get in a skirmish with a group of that size.
Pointing west Harry asked, “Does anyone know what’s causing all that smoke?”
Rawley answered with a serious look on his face. “Sir, I’d tell you, but I doubt that you’d believe me.”
“What do you mean…?” Shelly asked.
“When you all leave here, turn on your radios. I promise this isn’t any Orson Welles ‘War of the Worlds’ hoax. There is some credence to what Harry here just said about the city going to hell in a handbasket… and then some.”
“We’ve got some road to burn up. Good luck to you all. If I were you I’d steer well clear of Portland,” Cade said as he opened the door, held the grab handle near his head and climbed into the driver’s seat.
“Is there a forest fire coming?” Leo queried worriedly.
“No, that’s Portland. Surely the creatures are following the living that are fleeing the city and I can almost guarantee they will come this way,” Cade answered Leo as he fired up the Toyota, adding, “Let’s put some more miles between us and them.” He stared at Leo and then at Ike before saying, “We need to find a place to teach you guys to shoot a pistol and maybe the shotgun.”
They hit the road, Cade, Leo and Ike in the Sequoia and Rawley driving solo in his Bronco. Harry and the two women were still having an animated conversation in the parking lot. Rawley watched them in his rear view mirror until they were but tiny specks.
The two vehicle convoy exited the Vista House parking lot, veered left and continued east on the scenic highway. Leo passed out energy bars and bottled water as they wound through the back roads of the Columbia River Gorge.
Cade commented, “Later on we’ll stop so we can eat some real food,” then he caught himself. “I guess calling an MRE real food is stretching it a bit. I’ll let you judge for yourselves,” he said with a chuckle.
Back at the Vista House, just minutes after Cade, Rawley and the boys made their exit, a man in a Dodge Ram pickup arrived and pulled up next to the Camaro and VW. The man looked the three over before rolling down his window and greeting them.
“How are y’all doing? My name is Duncan, Duncan Winters.” He had a nasally Southern twang which matched his ruddy complexion. His Stetson hat and squinting wise eyes made him seem one hundred percent cowboy.
Harry removed his dark glasses and extended his hand upwards towards Duncan and made his acquaintance.
The twins introduced themselves.
“Sheila Olsen, hi,” she said, smoothing her hair behind her ear.
“I’m Shelly Olsen.” She greeted him with a wave of her small hand.
Duncan stayed in his truck with the window rolled down, letting the engine idle and proceeded to recount what he had just witnessed thirty minutes ago.
The twins were visibly shaken. Harry shook his head slowly side to side, staring at the ground.
Shelly broke the silence. “I think we saw them heading east a couple of minutes ago,” remembering the pack of noisy motorcycles.
“Looks like I’m not going back to Portland any time soon” Harry remarked glumly.
Sheila opined, “I think we ought to go the same way those two trucks just went. What do you think Sis?”
Before Shelly could add her opinion, Duncan Winters told them he was going to head east and see if he could find a lawman to make things right for the murdered little girl. “If the law isn’t around these parts any longer, then I may have to take things into my own hands.”
When the cowboy finished Shelly finally answered her sister with a silent nod of agreement.
They all headed eastbound on the Columbia River Gorge scenic highway. Harry’s yellow Camaro took the lead with the little red convertible in the middle and the dually 4x4 pickup driven by Duncan bringing up the rear. Duncan couldn’t help but obsess about the poor little girl and how horribly she had suffered. He was sure there was a special place in hell for monsters like the ones that butchered her. Duncan had indirectly sent his fair share of them there himself during the Vietnam War, and he had not a shred of remorse. If only I get a chance, he thought as he kept an eye on the road behind him.
Chapter 147
Day 2 - Wahkeena Falls, Columbia River Gorge, Oregon
The two truck procession wheeled into the Wahkeena Falls parking lot. There were roughly twenty parking spots and a one way circular drive all ringed by tall fir trees. In the middle of the drive was an expanse of green grass with a number of picnic tables arranged near the center. A small white school bus with a bright yellow “Little Learners Preschool” logo on the door occupied the spot nearest the trailhead.
The bathrooms were built to resemble miniature log cabins. Beyond the bathrooms a trail snaked down gradually about a quarter of a mile to the waterfall. The summer before last, when he was home from deployment, Cade and Raven had a father and daughter outing here. He remembered the falls were beautiful, but rather small and unimpressive. It seemed a perfectly safe and short hike to take a group of preschoolers on.
Except for the bus, the lot was empty.
Cade backed the Sequoia into a parking spot near the preschool bus. Rawley slid the Bronco in right next to it. They all got out and stretched their legs. Ike ran and played on the grass in the middle of the parking lot, and Leo chased him around the picnic tables; finally his longer legs prevailed and he scooped up his wiry brother and tickled him until he cried uncle. The two boys continued to playfully wrestle each other.
Cade looked on, awed by the boys’ resilience. Their mom and dad had just died and
the trauma had drawn them closer to each other. To survive they would have to have each other’s backs at all times. The scene choked him up and made him long to hold his family again. He composed himself and called the boys over.
“Times a’ wasting, let’s eat.”
Cade wanted to eat quickly and continue on. The need to reunite with his family was stronger than ever.
They all assembled at the open rear of the Sequoia. Ike passed out the MREs (meals ready to eat) from the case calling out the flavors as he grabbed them.
“Leo gets chicken à la King.”
“Mmmm,” Leo said, inspecting the olive drab bag.
“Cade gets spaghetti and meatballs.” Ike tossed him the package.
“What. I don’t get to choose?”
“Take it or leave it,” Ike said matter-of-factly, grinning at Cade.
“Rawley, what do you want? Chili-mac... or sweet and sour pork?” he asked next, showing off both identical looking packaged meals.
“I’ll take the swine, thanks Ike.” Rawley snatched the one he suspected might be his.
“You give him a choice now?” Cade said, feigning a hurt look.
“Just playin’ with you.” Ike opened the leftover chili-mac. It was the one he secretly wanted anyway.
The boys were amazed by the self-heating MREs; you just added a tablespoon of water and waited for a couple of minutes, grabbed a spoon and dug in.
“Not bad at all,” Ike stated through a mouthful.
After everyone had finished with their meals it was time for gun training. Normally Cade wouldn’t advocate discharging a firearm in a state park, but normal went out the window when the dead started to walk.
One at a time, Cade checked the magazines for the Glocks. Satisfied that they both held seventeen rounds, he inserted the mags and chambered a round in each pistol. Next he put on the combat harness and nestled each Glock in its holster. He hefted the matte black Mossberg 590 Roadblocker; it was a mean-looking 12 gauge shotgun. He loaded eight shells into the weapon alternating between shot and slug.