“You don’t sound like a fan of government.”
“Why would I be? They kept wanting to take our guns and have us pay for the people who were too lazy to work. I worked my whole life, paying taxes, and now I’m scrambling like a common criminal just to stay alive, rummaging through houses for food and shelter.”
“Look at the bright side. We’re some of the most important people in the world these days.”
“There is that,” Sutton said with a chuckle, tossing a clump of dirt to his side with the shovel. “Forgive me if I don’t feel pampered in my new existence.”
“Are you taking Gracine with you to the camp?”
Sutton gave him a slightly sour look, as though he didn’t necessarily want anyone tagging along for the duration.
He stepped out of the grave, motioning for Metzger to follow him to the barn. Less than a minute later he opened the red double doors to reveal a white box truck inside. Tattooed with a few dents and at least one or two decal removals from prior service, the truck possessed the look of a survivor.
“I’ve been collecting supplies and food as I go,” Sutton revealed. “Even dog food for Buster.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I want you to take Gracine with you so I can take this truck to the camp.”
“While I don’t mind another person coming with us, it’s not exactly up to me. I think Gracine should have a say in this.”
“She will, but she can’t come with me. I’ve got to put my family first.”
Metzger understood the importance of family. After all, he was risking his own life by traveling on the road with complete strangers to find the last immediate member of his clan. And the only reason most of those people tagged along was because they shared a similar desire, or had already lost everyone important to them.
“It shouldn’t be hard to cut the umbilical cord since you met just a few days ago,” Metzger said, staring at the truck as Sutton eyeballed something over his shoulder. “I’m more concerned about how the hell you’re going to get that truck across gridlocked highways to your camp.”
Without a word, Sutton pulled his sidearm and began to raise it, leaving Metzger to wonder if something dangerous approached from behind, or the true danger stood directly in front of him, leading him into some kind of insidious trap from the beginning.
Seventeen
“Duck,” Sutton ordered calmly, but firmly, as he aimed the sidearm just over Metzger’s right shoulder.
Not wanting to suffer a bullet wound, or deal with temporary deafness, accompanied by a ringing of his ears, he dropped to his knees, plugging his ears with his forefingers.
Instead of a deafening blast, however, he heard a sound not quite like the movies where a brief high-pitched noise cut the air. This shot was definitely quieter than a firearm fired with no modifications, sounding more like a quick popping noise. Looking up almost immediately, he saw that Sutton indeed held a nine-millimeter pistol with a silencer attached to the end. Behind him, he spotted a zombie lying permanently dead on the ground, which must have crossed the road, and the yard, after hearing or spotting them opening the barn doors.
“Thanks,” he said.
“Don’t mention it.”
“Where does one get a silenced weapon?” Metzger felt compelled to ask.
“I have several,” Sutton said, replacing the weapon into a holster modified to house the weapon and its extension. “The problem is they require special ammo to keep them this quiet, and I only have so much left.”
“Because you’ve shared it with the dead heads?”
“You could say that.”
Metzger dusted off his jeans as Sutton began shutting the barn doors, securing his treasure trove once more. A bit surprised he hadn’t heard the zombie’s approach, Metzger figured it was far enough away that he would have put it down if Sutton hadn’t.
“How long are you staying here before you move on?” he asked.
“How long are you?”
“We’ll be heading out in the morning,” Metzger answered.
“That was my plan as well. I was going to take Gracine a little further, but she’s safer going with your group.”
“When were you planning on breaking the news to her?”
“Soon. But I guess it’ll have to be tonight.”
Sutton walked over to the grave, resuming his digging not far from the two recent graves he provided for the couple who formerly occupied the house. Metzger couldn’t fault the man for wanting to protect his remaining family, and despite his hardened exterior, Sutton exhibited mostly good morals.
Deciding few options presented themselves to keep his mind occupied, Metzger wanted to fetch the remaining items left in the Cessna before curious travelers looted the plane.
“I’m going to take the truck down to the plane to fetch the rest of our gear,” he informed Sutton.
“You need any backup?” Sutton inquired, though his tone indicated that he wanted to finish his current task.
“No. I’ve got it.”
Metzger walked to the house, first checking on Albert, finding Samantha and Luke keeping vigil over him. He could see the trio conversing, so he moved forward, seeing Jillian in the living room with Vazquez. He was lying on the couch with his head propped atop a pillow, appearing unconscious at first glance.
“How is he?”
“He’s okay,” Jillian answered. “Just resting.”
“I’m heading down to the plane to get the rest of our stuff.”
“Want company?”
“I’ve got it,” he said assuredly.
Truth be told, Metzger wouldn’t have minded some backup, but he needed the others to stay at the house. The two injured required monitoring, and he wanted to trust the two newcomers, but experience told him people could put forth trustworthy faces and be the complete opposite.
“Just keep an eye on things,” he asked of Jillian. “I’ll be back shortly.”
She gave a nod in return.
Walking out to the truck, Metzger looked around the yard and surrounding fields, seeing no further undead as the sound of the shovel piercing dirt reached his ears. He glanced, but Sutton was focused on digging, as though he wasn’t getting a paycheck until he finished. Climbing into the truck, Metzger followed the same path they took from the Cessna to the house in reverse. He reached the downed plane in a matter of minutes, finding several stragglers attracted to the scene, though none being the living variety.
He spotted three in his immediate vicinity, but he wanted to avoid making noise with gunfire. Instead of using the knife, however, Metzger climbed into the open Cessna, quickly recovering his swords. He drew the shorter of the two, his usual preference, and set to work by swinging at the skull of the female zombie closest to him.
Doing its job, the blade sliced cleanly through the skull, letting the top portion slide to the ground with gravity. A male zombie in a tattered T-shirt and badly torn blue jeans approached next, but as Metzger attempted the same maneuver, the blade caught in the side of the straggler’s skull before reaching the brain.
“Fuck!” Metzger muttered to himself, trying to pry the sword loose as the zombie flailed its arms in an attempt to grab him and pull him closer for an early evening snack.
His heart began to race, and he felt like a lumberjack trying to pry his axe free from a worthy tree, needing to use some caution or risk snapping the blade. The fact that his life was in danger wasn’t lost to him, but it happened so often he began to regard it as part of his daily routine. It occurred to him ever so briefly that the blade required some sharpening if the opportunity presented itself down the road.
Kicking the zombie away from him momentarily, Metzger drew his knife and pounced on it before it could regain solid footing, knocking it to the ground. Switching the blade to his left hand, he struck it in the skull opposite the side of the sword, finishing the young adult cut down in his prime.
Twice.
Standing, Metzge
r finally took a good look at the last undead straggler now ten feet away from him, and ambling toward him with a bloody scowl. Another young man, this one had blond hair cropped short, and a tall, solid build, appearing to have joined the ranks of the undead more recently than most.
He also wore current military fatigues like those used in the National Guard. Even as he growled and stumbled closer, Metzger didn’t feel legitimate fear because his eyes fixated on the chest of the deceased soldier. A red line that looked like dried blood about three inches in length crossed the area where a living person’s heart would beat within the chest cavity. It appeared this recently deceased soldier was possibly stabbed to death, leaving Metzger to wonder if an acquaintance who admitted to not trusting the military was capable of such an act.
Waiting until the zombie lurched toward him, Metzger easily dodged the mindless attacker, kicking the former soldier in the ass, knocking him to the ground. Finally able to pry his short sword from the skull of the downed zombie, Metzger quickly examined the blade, questioning the sharpness immediately. Instead of using it, he decided to use the knife on the soldier before the member of the undead made it to his feet. A swift jab through the temple left Metzger free of trouble in his immediate vicinity, but he now wondered where this soldier came from, and why he ended up stabbed through the heart.
Kneeling down, he positioned the soldier’s body so he could access the torso, quickly undoing the clothes to find a stab wound near the heart. A cursory examination revealed no other wounds on the upper body until he saw some redness along the back of the neck. Flipping the body partway around, he saw three deep gouges streaming down the neck as though three fingers had slightly missed the mark and scratched the upper layers of his skin away.
He wondered if the soldier had been infected with deep scratches before his death. It made sense that infection within the bloodstream would cause someone to turn, even if they didn’t die from the infection itself. Feeling left with more questions than answers, Metzger stood momentarily to look over the body.
Deciding he didn’t want to wait for undead reinforcements to arrive, or leave Sutton around his people any longer than necessary, he quickly transferred every usable item from the Cessna to the truck bed. He kept his personal items aside, pocketing the sat phone after looking to find no missed calls or other activity. Mentally kicking himself for not grabbing the phone the first time around, he quickly remembered that the initial transfer from the Cessna to the truck wasn’t particularly smooth.
After he placed the last pile safely into the truck bed, Metzger turned to look one last time at the soldier lying face down in the pumpkin patch, wishing he had the time and knowledge to carry out some sort of investigation. Instead, he climbed into the truck and drove uphill across the field to the farmhouse less than a mile away.
He arrived to find Sutton leaning on the shovel, taking a break from his digging now that only his upper torso was visible above the landscape. Ignoring him for the moment, Metzger walked inside, finding Gracine with Samantha on the couch, doing her best to distract the young girl from the adult problems surrounding her. They were seated on one of the living room sofas, so Metzger took a seat across from them and casually listened to Gracine teaching Samantha how to play a board game they’d found somewhere in the house. He noticed Buster sitting to the side of the couch, closest to Gracine, as though he’d taken a liking to her.
He waited until it was Samantha’s move in the game before addressing Gracine directly.
“You could come with us if you want.”
“I’m not sure I like the idea of walking up to a military installation,” Gracine answered without looking up from the board game. “No offense.”
“None taken, but you should come with us.”
“Because Colby may not want me with him? I’m pretty sure I can convince him otherwise.”
Metzger discovered she wasn’t going to be easy to persuade, but he didn’t want to be too forthcoming while Samantha sat within earshot.
“Have you really been with him the past few days?”
“Yes.”
“Like side by side with him the entire time?”
Gracine looked up with a mildly hostile expression.
“What exactly are you getting at?”
“Nothing. I’m just concerned.”
Now Gracine shot him a stare that indicated she knew there was more to his story than he dared tell.
“You’d be good for her,” he said, nodding at Samantha as he swapped tactics.
“Mister, you don’t even know me.”
“I’m a reasonably good judge of character. If I thought you were evil, or a threat to us, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
Gracine looked as though she wanted to provide a rebuttal, but one glance at Samantha, who now paid some attention to their conversation and not the game, quickly changed her mind.
“Just think about it,” Metzger said before standing and walking out of the living room before she could say anything more.
He next walked to the rear porch where he found Luke holding Albert’s hand. Because it grew dark outside from graying clouds and the impending dusk, he couldn’t see details very well. To him, it looked as though Albert might have lost consciousness, but the man spoke weakly a moment later. Luke took notice of Metzger standing at the doorway and stood to speak with him.
“He’s getting weaker by the hour.”
“When it’s time, you can come get me,” Metzger offered just above a whisper.
“I can’t even think about it yet.”
“Then spend what time you have left with him. I won’t be far.”
Luke appeared very apprehensive about a future without Albert, and the emptiness in his eyes gave Metzger the impression that he regretted ever leaving their humble abode. Metzger knew returning to their home would have bought them days, perhaps weeks together, but in the end someone else would have come for what they possessed.
Walking away, Metzger took the alternate route through the lower level bathroom and the master bedroom beyond it to reach the staircase. He didn’t have to pass through the living room again. Starting up the stairs, he found Jillian making her way down, both stopping halfway to converse.
“I took Juan up there and helped him into bed,” she said. “He drank some water, but I’m not sure he’s going to be ready for travel anytime soon.”
“The bullet went through, so we just need to watch for infection,” Metzger suggested. “We may have to move tomorrow, regardless of whether or not we’re ready.”
He kept his voice down, knowing with the open stairwell Gracine might hear anything they said.
“What’s wrong?” Jillian asked with concern.
“Nothing yet. I’m just not sure how long we’re going to be welcome.”
Metzger tilted his head slightly to his right, indicating someone might be listening below them. Jillian caught the hint and quit asking questions, providing a concerned expression.
“I’ll do what I can,” he assured her quietly before they both descended the stairway.
Metzger followed her through the living room and made his way to the kitchen, searching the pantry until he found some canned goods. He didn’t feel particularly hungry, but decided to cook something while he had spare time, just to maintain his strength. Luckily the old farmhouse had a functioning propane gas stove in the kitchen, which required only a match or lighter to activate.
Making his way through the residence, he asked anyone readily available if they wanted anything to eat since he was going to cook. The farmhouse contained a propone tank that allowed the stove to function, providing them with easy means of cooking for the night. Gracine suggested something for Samantha, which Metzger acknowledged before frying some corned beef hash for himself, and one of the popular kid pastas from a can for Samantha. He felt like a heel preparing food with Albert not far from the kitchen, knowing nothing was going to make the situation less awkward.
Sutton re
turned to the house once dusk began making it difficult to see outside. By now the group had lit some candles and settled in, some even sleeping in shifts. Metzger remained at the kitchen table, not far from the back porch, waiting for any news about Albert. He wasn’t convinced Luke could be trusted not to let Albert slip into the next world without informing anyone, thus endangering the entire group.
“Did you finish?” Metzger asked Sutton, his query intentionally vague.
“It’ll suffice. Deeper than what the homeowners got for theirs.”
“Want anything to eat?” Metzger offered, trying to strike up a conversation with Sutton, wanting to learn more about the man’s motivations.
“I’m good.”
Despite rejecting the offer for food, Sutton drew a chair at the kitchen table, providing Metzger with his greater objective.
“I can go with you partway through the state,” Sutton said evenly, but quietly enough that no one else heard. “My camp is on the way to your suicide mission, so I’ll stick with you as far as I can.”
“This mean you’re not going to break the news to Gracine?” Metzger inquired, keeping a calm demeanor while his brain felt as though it was melting from being idiotic and speaking out of turn.
“Oh, I’ll tell her, but I’m going to convince her that her better play is to stay with you folks.”
“On our suicide mission?”
“Well, I’ll put it a little more politically correct than that.”
Gracine entered the kitchen a few seconds later, staring both of them down as she crossed the area to look outside one of the windows.
“You two can stop deciding what’s best for me,” she said without turning around. “I survived this mess a full month just like the rest of y’all.”
She turned around before speaking again.
“While it’s better to have people, it definitely ain’t a must. Not yet.”
Having spoken her peace, Gracine left the room, presumably to stay with Samantha in the living room.
“Guess she told you,” Metzger said after a few seconds, once he felt certain their words wouldn’t be heard.
The Undead Chronicles (Book 1): Home and Back Again Page 24