Metzger didn’t let the haunting visual faze him for very long as he stepped forward, past the broken bar that once forbade traffic to pass through until authorized. A few concrete barriers like those set in the center of highways to divert traffic during construction, blocked the path ahead. No vehicle larger than a motorcycle or four-wheeler could possibly pass through, and it became apparent the Navy took steps to keep out the living more so than the undead rather early in the apocalypse. The concrete road only went a little bit further until it reached a mesh wire fence that tied in with the more concealed security barrier surrounding the base. Metzger guessed this fence was added rather hastily as an added security measure when it was decided the base would act as a stronghold.
Metzger realized the guard shacks acted as checkpoints from the roads because parts of the base appeared to simply blend into the regular community. All of the essential portions of the base were separated by the checkpoints, and Metzger suspected crossing them without permission didn’t end well for those who tried. The mesh wire fences were likely to impede the progress of the living to enter the base, and certainly to keep the undead from wandering inside an otherwise clean perimeter.
Much of the fence around the base was concealed with giant trees and shrubs, partially for decorative purposes, but also to keep prying eyes from learning about the defenses within. Tracing the road with his eyes, Metzger quickly noticed an issue with the fence, namely in the fact that he couldn’t see much of its lower half.
“Oh, no,” he muttered, realizing in horror that the dark band along the bottom of the fence was actually a mix of colors worn by various zombies that lined the fence, trying to get inside.
In some areas the undead were three or four deep pushing against the same area of the fence, and the line of undead seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see in either direction. Metzger felt his heart sink, wondering how anyone could possibly get past the accidental, yet threatening, security system set up along the outskirts of the base.
By now the others had reached his side, seeing the same exact terrifying sight, knowing thousands of undead were lurking just outside of the place they desperately wanted to enter.
“We have to go,” Sutton said quietly as several of the zombies turned, spying the group standing there in lieu of whatever drew them to the fence in the first place.
A dozen, and then several hundred dead eyes turned to see them as they backed away toward the Hummer. No one in the group wanted to open fire and draw all of the undead their way, so they hastily made their way into the vehicle as the undead stumbled around the concrete barricades, a few even falling headfirst onto the hard surface. Barely closing the door before scores of hands pressed against the metal and glass, all seven survivors took some deep breaths, trying to collect their wits. Including Buster, the group found themselves randomly piled into the rear seats of the vehicle, trying to separate and adjust for some sense of comfort.
Sutton threw the vehicle into reverse, ramming a few of the zombies as he pulled away, driving down the road in search of a different way into the base.
Metzger counted himself fortunate none of the undead had groped inside his partially open window and clawed at him. Freeing his arms and legs from the pile of people stacked in the same seat with him, he quickly rolled the window up, shutting out the delightful odors of the ocean. Still catching his breath from the momentary brush with death, he stared out the window, seeing the protective buildings and shrubs along the road occasionally give way, allowing glimpses at non-essential portions of the base. The base felt a million miles away because the line of undead pawing at the fences didn’t seem to have an end.
Sutton passed a checkpoint gate because the undead were visible just inside along the fence. The base’s acreage stretched on for miles, and the Hummer drove past the third gate after the group found similar results. Closer to the fourth gate the number seemed to thin significantly, so Sutton slowed down for a closer look. He started to make the turn, finding the guard shack empty and just a few zombies milling around the fences ahead.
“We could try making entry here,” he said, turning to Metzger with one hand still on the steering wheel.
“It doesn’t feel right that they’d leave every single gate unmanned,” Metzger replied. “There can’t be more than one or two gates left, and I don’t want to bust their defenses unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
“Maybe your brother wasn’t fully informed of the situation,” Jillian suggested. “If the base was compromised, they could have walked into a trap.”
“The undead aren’t getting through the fences,” Luke pointed out. “The base isn’t compromised.”
Sutton backed away from the gate, driving a bit more slowly down the road to examine the condition of the fences, when visible, and the number of the undead. The further they went, the fewer zombies they spied, which boded well for the fifth and possibly final gate when they spotted it from a distance. Metzger drew a deep breath, wondering if he was about to break into a federal government facility to see his brother, or if the federal government even truly remained in existence.
Metzger’s heart sank when they finally pulled to the last gate and found no activity. Tumbleweeds could have blown past to accentuate the moment as they found the gate empty and the fence beyond it devoid of any undead.
Once again the area between the gate and the fence, which contained a sliding gate constructed from similar mesh wire, was dotted with concrete barricades to keep a vehicle from getting through and crashing through the fence. Metzger supposed it might have also slowed the undead, making them easier targets, but they didn’t appear to have any interest in such a desolate area of the base.
Prepared to do whatever was required to see his brother, Metzger stepped from the Hummer first, and the others followed a bit more slowly this time after the mob nearly tackled them and ate them as a late lunch at the first gate. Looking all around him, Metzger saw several buildings across the road that weren’t important enough to be located within the main security fence. He peered inside the guard shack, seeing a few clipboards and a small desk, but no indication of life, and no blood to indicate previous violence occurred within the enclosure.
Buster jumped from the vehicle sniffing the air, taking a much calmer stance this time without growling or backing away from the gate in retreat. Sutton walked over to him, scratching the top of his head, which caused the pit bull to wag his tail. Metzger turned from his fellow travelers and the Hummer to navigate past the guard shack and the concrete barriers, walking up to the fence. He could see some buildings that looked like hangars ahead, but he wasn’t certain. The base appeared to go on forever, which made it difficult to gauge the distance inside.
Secured by several additional chains and locks in addition to what once protected it, the gate was sealed to prevent anything from getting inside. Metzger examined the gate and the fences leading up to it on either side, deciding one of the locks was too high to cut without the benefit of a ladder, so he would need to cut through the fence itself.
Walking almost casually back to the Hummer, Metzger reached inside to grab the bolt cutters as the others stood watch or explored the area surrounding the base. He supposed if he possessed a ladder he could simply climb to the top of the fence and jump over, though the risks of injury or being stuck inside might deter such a brazen move.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say this place is abandoned,” Vazquez commented as Metzger navigated his way past the guard shack and the concrete barriers again. “If that airfield had any aircraft, we could go anywhere we wanted.”
He spoke the last words almost dreamily, as though he knew of somewhere specific he wouldn’t mind flying.
“I just want somewhere to sleep in for a few days without worries of zombies or douchebags busting down the doors to get me,” Metzger confessed.
He opened the bolt cutters as he drew near the fence, prepared to make the first cut when he heard a clicking noise at hi
s feet followed by the sound of a rifle firing. Metzger looked down at his feet, seeing the mark where a bullet struck the concrete and skipped away like some high-velocity rock on a pond.
Dropping the bolt cutters to the ground, Metzger drew closer to the fence, attempting to see where the shot might have originated. He couldn’t see anyone, surely by design, figuring the military had snipers posted to watch each of the gates to ensure their base wasn’t compromised. Knowing he was lucky they didn’t make an example of him by shooting him in the head, he still decided to push his luck by raising his arms over his head and waving them back and forth to attract their attention and let him know he wasn’t some malicious intruder.
Or so he hoped.
After a minute or so he quit waving his arms and simply stood at the gate waiting for some kind of response. The others walked forward, taking his side as though to say they weren’t going anywhere without some answers. Even Buster walked forward, standing by Samantha as they all stared forward, into the base, until a topless utility vehicle drove their way, creating a trail of dust as it drew closer.
When it finally came to a stop about forty feet short of the fence, four soldiers dressed in fatigues stepped down, each holding an assault rifle. All of them were tall and imposing, and they walked rigidly toward the fence, looking around as though expecting an ambush.
“You’re trespassing,” one of them said, approaching Metzger directly while the other three held back to survey the area.
“I’m on this side of the fence,” Metzger replied. “And I’m under orders to be here.”
For a split-second the soldier appeared perplexed at such an answer from a civilian.
“I don’t have time for jokes.”
“Neither do I,” Metzger pushed. “My brother is the XO aboard the Ross and he told me to get my ass here because he was about to receive new orders.”
Now the soldier looked concerned because he obviously knew at least a little something about the lieutenant commander.
“What’s your brother’s name?” he asked.
“Metzger. Bryce Metzger.”
Standing stiffly, the soldier inhaled the fresh air through his nose as though delaying to speak the words he needed to say.
“He’s about to get deployed,” the soldier finally said.
“Can I see him?” Metzger asked anxiously.
“He made arrangements for you to stay here at the base or travel with him.”
Metzger couldn’t imagine that the military would allow a civilian, even in such strange new times, to tag along on a mission.
“What about my friends?” he inquired, concerned for their safety after they traveled so far with him.
It openly pained the soldier to speak his next words, but orders dictated that he do so.
“Family members only are allowed inside. I’m sorry, but we’re already stretched thin protecting and feeding everyone.”
Metzger felt devastated. He wasn’t prepared to choose between his brother and the people he now considered family. He couldn’t simply abandon them to fend for themselves after they accompanied him, hoping for sanctuary at the end of the journey. Slowly, Metzger turned to them. For a fleeting moment he thought about saying Jillian was his wife, or at least his girlfriend, to get her asylum from the elements, but it wasn’t fair to any of his friends to lie for her. It denied the rest of them the protection provided by the military, but also denied her the opportunity to discover the fate of her loved ones as Metzger had done.
Expecting to see anger, or perhaps disappointment, in their faces, he found them glad for him instead, providing comforting smiles because they understood the situation.
Looking between them and the soldiers he realized he needed to make a life-altering decision within the next minute or two. He felt irritated at his brother for not finding a way to escape the stranglehold the military used to keep him in line. Protecting one’s wife and son within a secure compound sounded like incentive to remain a good soldier, but even the military wasn’t going to hold out forever without food and supplies being delivered. Metzger envisioned desperate times ahead for them, like the rest of the world, so letting his group move on might be the safer bet for them.
“I hate to be pushy, but your brother’s plane leaves in about ten minutes,” the soldier said.
“Plane?”
“Plane. I can’t say much, but he’s flying out on a mission that may make the difference in us winning or losing this war with the infected.”
Metzger looked from the soldier to his companions, forced to decide between accompanying his brother on a likely dangerous mission, staying at the base with his sister-in-law and nephew, or continuing in the open world with his new friends.
“Well, fuck,” he muttered aloud.
Twenty-eight
Jillian took hold of his hand, looking him in the eye.
“You have to go in there. We’ll be fine.”
“But I feel like a selfish asshole,” Metzger replied, forcing a smirk.
He turned to the soldier beyond the gate.
“Are you sure you can’t add extended family to the list?”
“No,” the soldier said firmly, shaking his head negatively. “The list is final.”
Jillian reached up, touching Metzger’s cheek to get him to look her in the eyes.
“We knew there weren’t any guarantees when we asked to come along,” she said. “You’ve gotten us this far. We’ll find our families and make the best of it.”
Metzger purposely clasped both of her shoulders, continuing to look her in the eyes.
“Stay alive no matter what occurs,” he said. “I will find you.”
Sutton and Vazquez both snickered, realizing what Metzger had just said, and where it originated, and for a second he believed Jillian had no idea, but she had a habit of proving him wrong.
She sighed through her nose, giving him a mock disapproving, almost scolding look, in response.
“Did you seriously just quote The Last of the Mohicans as my sendoff?”
“I really didn’t think you’d catch it,” he said, handing her the sat phone. “The charger is in the truck that we left beside the box truck.”
“You’re avoiding my question.”
“And because you knew where that came from I think you may be the coolest woman on the planet.”
“There are a lot fewer of us,” she said, pulling him into a hug.
The soldier on the other side of the fence grumbled, clearing his throat as one of the other soldiers undid the locks for Metzger to cross inside.
“Do you have any issue with me bringing my belongings and weapons?” he asked the soldier who appeared to be in charge of the situation.
“No. You’ll probably need them where you’re going.”
Not sure he liked the sound of that, Metzger walked over to the Hummer, grabbing what few weapons and supplies he could carry. Figuring the military possessed far better firearms than he could bring, he left those for the others, only taking the .357 and one of the semi-automatic pistols. He also took his personal belongings, and the two swords he had definitely fallen in love with during the course of his travels.
Metzger quickly gave everyone in the group a hug and a few hopeful words, whispering to Gracine that the soldiers on the highway might be after the box truck. She was the only one capable of keeping Sutton in check in case he considered engaging the soldiers in a firefight. No box truck was worth risking lives to recover if the military had indeed confiscated it for their inventory.
“I’ll take care of it,” she said.
Metzger stood in front of Sutton last, but the man wanted nothing to do with a hug. Instead he offered a handshake, which Metzger accepted, clasping the top of the man’s hand with his free hand. He wanted Sutton to know that he, like the others, meant more to him than any regular traveling companion just trying to survive the apocalypse as long as possible.
“You’re going to have to stop being such a hard-ass one of the
se days,” Metzger told him when they shook hands.
“I’m not making any promises,” Sutton replied, unwilling to change his ways. “You’re leaving me with this group of Yayhoos, so I can’t afford to go soft.”
Metzger’s grin faded a bit as he made his last comment to the best gun in the group.
“Take care of them.”
“I’ll do my best. We’d better see you again.”
“God willing,” Metzger said, backing away from the group, raising his hand for a final wave before crossing the threshold.
He dared not look back again until he neared the utility vehicle with the soldiers, finding that his traveling companions felt the same way about goodbyes, because they had begun to disperse. Only Samantha turned around for one last wave as Luke scooped her from the ground, and Metzger choked up a bit as his eyes felt a little misty. He truly hoped to see them again, but so many things could happen along the road, and he didn’t have much of an idea what kind of mission he was about to embark upon as an untrained civilian.
Fighting back any emotions, he jumped into the utility vehicle with the soldiers, crammed into the middle of the rear seat, trying to keep his weapons from poking either of the men. He felt a little intimidated because although he was nearly six feet in height and very capable of taking care of himself, these men were in peak physical condition.
“You’re about the last of the holdouts,” the soldier in charge commented from the front passenger seat.
“Holdouts?” Metzger asked in return.
“We rounded up most of our local relatives within the first week of the attacks. We’ve had a few families trickle in here and there, and we’ve kept a list of who to expect. Your brother kept insisting you’d get here, but a lot of us had our doubts. Buffalo is a long way off.”
Metzger wondered how Bryce kept in touch with the mainland if he was on a ship, but he supposed they possessed advanced methods of communication compared to the poor saps trying to survive on their own.
He wanted to inquire about the attacks, but he figured his brother could fill him in more thoroughly when time permitted. The thought of someone deliberately transforming the world into its current state felt preposterous, but Metzger wasn’t certain if he’d torture the person or people responsible, or just shoot them outright. He felt anger from his personal losses, and the fact that he was one of the lucky few survivors didn’t mean the responsible party would be granted any mercy if he ever caught up to them.
The Undead Chronicles (Book 1): Home and Back Again Page 42