Compton and Thompson headed back to the armored car without another word. Caylee followed, but not before she hugged Sultanic, tears flowing down her cheeks.
Tatyana threw hers arms around Sultanic and sobbed. “Good bye.”
He hugged back with his one good arm. “Take care, little one.”
Tibor stepped forward, patted his friend on the shoulder, and led Tatyana away.
When the others were out of earshot, Sultanic turned to Dravko and Robson. “Ironic that I died trying to save a human, isn’t it?”
Robson stepped forward and offered his hand. “There’re a lot of us who would’ve done the same for you.”
“I appreciate it.” Sultanic reached out with his left hand and shook Robson’s.
Dravko placed a hand behind Sultanic’s head and drew him close. When he spoke, his words were choked with emotion. “See you on the other side.”
“Hopefully not for a long time.”
Robson and Dravko left Sultanic and headed for the armored car. As he climbed into the back, Robson took the microphone. “We’ll take point from here on in. Tibor, you’ll follow us. Tatyana, you’ll bring up the rear.”
“Gotcha,” said Tibor.
“Roger that, boss.” Mad Dog replied for Tatyana.
The convoy started up and pulled back onto the main road, maneuvering over the sidewalk to avoid the fire that blocked the street. Sultanic waved to them as they passed. The last image Robson had of Sultanic was of the vampire crossing the street and heading toward the center of the park to wait for dawn.
Chapter Twenty-seven
No one in the armored car spoke as the convoy left Saratoga Springs. There was nothing to say. Robson stared out the side window into the darkness, only vaguely aware of the shadows that raced past. He tried to block from his mind the image of his fallen comrades. There would be time to grieve for them later. Right now, he needed to concentrate on the task at hand so they did not lose anyone else.
That was a lot easier said than done, though. The loss of Whitehouse and Sultanic hit him particularly hard. With the exception of Jordan, it had been months since the camp had lost anyone to rotters. Robson blamed himself, fearing he had become too complacent about dealing with the living dead. Or too cocky. Maybe he should have deployed the Angels in a defensive perimeter once the Mack got stuck in the pothole. Maybe he should have opted to travel only by day when they could better see their surroundings, or opted for a less populated route, even if it meant adding several days to the trip. Maybe he should have argued with Paul and taken half as many people, making the group a less conspicuous target. The self criticism got him nowhere, for Robson could come up with a dozen “should haves,” but in the end the result was the same. Too many people had died.
But Robson also knew their deaths weren’t on his head alone. The loss of three good men in the past few days all had one common factor that went beyond his ability to command. All three deaths had occurred since the arrival of Compton’s party. When a rotter infected Jordan during the rescue attempt, Robson initially had blamed Compton, although at the time he reasoned that he was transferring his anger over losing a team member. After what happened back at Saratoga Springs, however, he began to feel that transferring his anger was more than justified. The doctor had started all this by creating the damn Zombie Virus in the first place. And by his own account, Compton had lost ninety percent of his group escaping from Site R, only to turn around and beg Paul to have his team take him back. Rather than refuse, Paul had seemed taken in by the doctor’s promises of a miracle cure and had agreed to send half the camp on a trek hundreds of miles down the east coast on a futile quest. And what was the result? Two of his team butchered, the raiding party stuck in the middle of rotter territory, too far along to go back and with the toughest part of the journey still ahead, and with no idea what waited for them at Site R, if they ever arrived.
Robson warned himself to be more on guard for the rest of this trip. That caution extended not only to the rotters, but also to Compton.
* * *
The convoy spent the next two hours traveling the back roads of New York. By constantly changing secondary roads, they avoided heavily populated areas. Once on Route 79 South, the convoy traveled only a few miles before Dravko broke the silence.
“We’re getting close.”
Robson leaned forward to look out the windshield. Up ahead, the floodlights reflected off of a large sign along the side of the road welcoming them to Pennsylvania. It twisted down and to the left, the outer support beam having been bent by a Chevy Tahoe that had crashed into it. The front left door sat open, the mummified remains of its devoured driver hanging out the opening, still strapped in to its seatbelt.
To their left, the first sliver of daylight crested the horizon.
Robson moved to the front of the car and crouched beside Dravko. “Let’s stop here and switch drivers. This place seems safe enough.”
“Nowhere is safe.” Dravko was not arguing with Robson, just stating a fact. The vampire picked up the radio and keyed the microphone. “We’re going to stop and change over. Tatyana, pull the Ryder up beside the school bus. Tibor, have the Angels form a perimeter once we stop.”
“Can do,” answered Tatyana.
“Same here,” added Tibor.
Dravko slowed the armored car to a stop. The school bus halted directly behind him. Tatyana pulled the Ryder up on the right so its back end sat even with the school bus’ side door. As Robson watched in the rear view mirror, the Angels darted off the bus and fanned out in a circle around the convoy, their flashlights on and scanning the area.
Without saying a word, Dravko climbed out of the driver’s seat and headed for the Ryder. Robson followed him via the rear door, asking Thompson to take the wheel and be ready to move out quickly if need be.
Robson caught up with Dravko by the front of the school bus. “Wait up.”
Dravko looked over his shoulder. The squint in his eyes warned Robson that Dravko did not want to talk. Even so, he had something that required saying.
“I’m sorry about what happened to Sultanic.”
“Thanks,” Dravko answered without conviction. He turned and started to walk away.
Robson raced ahead and stood in front of him. “What’s wrong?”
“Sorry if I’m not talkative. In case you forgot, I lost one of my people tonight.”
“It’s not lost on me and most of the others that Sultanic became infected trying to save Whitehouse.”
“I hope you appreciate it,” snapped Dravko.
“I do.” Robson found it difficult to control his anger. “Sultanic sacrificed himself, and he deserves better than to be ignored. He was a good man.”
Dravko’s expression softened slightly. “Not a good vampire?”
Only then did Robson realize that for the first time he had acknowledged Sultanic as a member of the team rather than distinguishing between human or vampire. “No, I mean a good man.”
Robson offered his hand. Dravko hesitated a moment before reaching out to clasp it, giving it a single, firm pump. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about Whitehouse. He always treated us well.”
Robson nodded his appreciation. “We’ve both lost too many good people since Compton’s group arrived.”
Dravko cast a quick look at the armored car. “Do you trust them?”
“Compton or Thompson?”
“Both.”
“Not fully.”
“I didn’t like those two from the moment they came into camp. At first I thought it was because they hated vampires. Now I think there’s more to it.”
Robson ushered Dravko away from the armored car and toward the Ryder. “Compton’s holding out on us about something.”
“You think he’s lying about the vaccine?”
“No. I’m pretty sure one exists. But they’re definitely not telling us everything.”
Dravko nodded in agreement. “So what do we do?”
“Noth
ing we can do other than keep a close eye on them.”
“Easy for you to say.” Dravko gestured toward the Ryder. “You’re not stuck inside that thing for eight hours a day.”
“You guys are safe as long as I’m around.”
“I know that.” Dravko jumped up onto the Ryder’s loading dock and spun around to face Robson. “We all do.”
“Don’t worry. By this time tomorrow night we should be at Site R. Until then, I’ve got your back.”
“Then I guess I’ll see you at sunset.” Dravko stood up and closed the rear door, securing it from the inside.
Robson stood for a moment, staring at the Ryder and feeling a bit more at ease now that he knew that Dravko and the others felt the same distrust for Compton. At least now he didn’t feel like he would have to go this alone.
“All right, Angels, back on the bus. We’re moving out.”
Two minutes later, the convoy started to roll again and headed south into Pennsylvania.
* * *
The convoy continued along as the first rays of the morning sun crested the tree line. Route 79 became Route 92 when they crossed into Pennsylvania. Robson followed it to the intersection of Route 6, followed that road west for several miles, and then picked up Route 87. He traveled for just over half an hour when a road sign appeared ahead of him off to the right.
ENTERING BARBOURS
Robson pulled the map from between the visor and the roof, and flipped it over to the side displaying northern Pennsylvania. After a few seconds, he found what he was looking for.
“We’re here.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” asked Thompson as he made his way forward. “We’re nowhere near Site R.”
“I’m not talking about Site R.”
A small country road cut across Route 87. Only a few isolated, abandoned buildings could be seen from the road. Robson steered the armored car onto the shoulder and stopped. Behind him, the remaining vehicles pulled off the road and parked.
Compton, slumped down in the passenger’s seat, stirred from his nap. Sitting upright, he looked out at the surrounding trees. “Where are we?”
“Barbours.”
“Why are we stopping? There’s nothing here.”
“Exactly.” Robson opened the door and stepped out, both Compton and Thompson staring at him with a look of confusion. The two men exited the armored car.
By the time Robson reached the school bus, the Angels were deploying in a circle around the convoy. Natalie, O’Bannon, and Daytona came forward to meet him. Mad Dog jogged up from where he had parked the Ryder farther down the road.
“Is everything okay?” asked Natalie, her eyes nervously scanning the area.
“Everything’s fine. We’re making camp here until sundown.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” said Thompson stepping up behind him. “We have another seven hours of daylight.”
“We need to rest up and regroup.”
Thompson disagreed. “If we push on, we could make it to Gettysburg by nightfall.”
“It’s not as easy as you make it sound.”
“Why’s that?”
Robson pointed west down Route 87. “Because ten miles down that road we’ll be entering Harrisburg.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
The raiding party sat around the campfire, drinking hot coffee and munching on MREs, enjoying their brief respite and the beautiful autumn morning. Then Robson warned them what tonight’s run would entail. With the map spread out on the grass before him, Robson traced the route they would follow on the last leg of their trip to Site R. If anyone had thought the worst was behind them, they were sorely mistaken.
As Robson pointed out, Pennsylvania was populated in such a way that there were no isolated roads to reach Gettysburg. The best route Windows could come up with involved a run of nearly one hundred and fifty miles that avoided Harrisburg. Even that alternate would require them to negotiate the major cities of Kenmar and Faxon, both assumed to be heavily infested with rotters, before turning south for rural country. After that, they would pass through a few large towns before eventually breaking into farm territory for the last few miles to Gettysburg. Three hours of pure hell with numerous chances to be overrun by the living dead.
By the time Robson had finished, the cheerful mood had turned grim and somber.
“Any questions?” Robson asked, knowing he would not be able to provide any satisfactory answers.
“I have one,” responded Thompson. He sipped at his coffee. “Why don’t we just make the run now, while the sun’s still up? We could cover the entire trip before nightfall, and would be traveling through the populated areas while it’s light enough to see what we’re getting into.”
“I considered that. The problem is Dravko’s people. They’d be stuck inside the Ryder and wouldn’t be able to help if we had to fight our way out of a situation.”
“Is it worth the risk?” asked O’Bannon.
“Yes, it is. After the Angels, they’re the best fighters we have.”
“That’s not what I meant,” said O’Bannon.
“I know what you meant.” Robson had a finality to his tone that warned he would not tolerate any further discussion on the issue.
Thompson either did not catch Robson’s tone, or did not care. “Personally, I think we should leave the Ryder in the middle of a populated area while it’s still daylight.”
Before Robson could respond, Caylee sprang off the ground where she had been sitting and lunged at the colonel. She swung out her hand, slapping him across the face with enough force that the crack echoed. Thompson jumped to his feet, but rather than strike back he took a defensive posture. After the initial shock, Natalie jumped up and placed herself between Caylee and the colonel.
Still in his defensive posture, Thompson rubbed his cheek. “What was th—?”
“Just shut the fuck up!” Caylee screamed. “I’m sick of your shit!”
“You got a thing for the bloodsuckers?”
Caylee lunged again, this time being held back by Natalie. “One of those bloodsuckers saved my life last night. Or maybe my life doesn’t mean anything to you, either?”
“Your life wouldn’t have been in danger if the bloodsuckers hadn’t unleashed the Zombie Virus on mankind.”
“You mean the Zombie Virus that Doctor Evil here created?” Caylee spat in Compton’s direction.
Compton continued to sip his coffee, indifferent to the encounter.
Robson stood and crossed over to Caylee, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “That’s enough.”
“We should leave him wandering the streets for the rotters. That’d be justice.”
“That’s enough, Caylee.”
Robson squeezed her shoulder increasingly harder until the pain in her muscles distracted her. She swung her left arm up and back, breaking his hold. She glared at him for a moment, ready to vent her anger on him, but thought otherwise. Breaking free of Natalie’s grip, Caylee stormed away from the group.
Ari stood up and passed close by Natalie. “I’ll keep an eye on her and make sure she doesn’t wander off.”
As the two women walked off, Robson turned to Thompson. “Keep a low profile for the rest of this trip.”
“I didn’t—”
Robson extended his index finger and shoved it into Thompson’s face. “You heard me. Keep your fucking opinions to yourself.”
Thompson seethed. His expression toughened, the eyes and lips becoming slits. Robson saw the colonel’s right fist clutch into a fist when Compton intervened. Without looking up from his cup of coffee, the doctor uttered a single command.
“Stand down, Colonel.”
Thompson shot his boss a glance equal parts anger and disappointment. A tense few seconds passed before the colonel picked up his tin cup, emptied out the coffee with a violent flick of the wrist, and stormed off in the opposite direction Caylee had gone.
An awkward silence surrounded the camp fire. J
ennifer spoke first, trying to help out Robson.
“What now?”
“We rest up as much as possible while we can. We’ll head out tonight about seven o’clock. That’ll give Dravko’s people time to be briefed.”
“What about us?” asked Ari.
“You need rest more than anyone. Everyone will take turns guarding the perimeter, one person per quadrant for two-hour shifts. Have Natalie work out the schedule. Everyone else, rest while you can. Dismissed.”
O’Bannon got up first, tossing the rest of his coffee into the fire where it sizzled against the embers before storming off in the same direction as the colonel. The others sauntered away at their own pace to go about preparing for that night’s run. Compton left last, finishing his coffee and MRE before moving off as if nothing had happened.
Robson watched the doctor as he walked away, still unable to get the full measure of the man. He did not know what bothered him most: the fact that the doctor seemed not to care that he had created the Zombie Virus that all but wiped out mankind, or that it did not bother him that most of the others despised him for that very reason. Robson assumed Compton would at least be a bit remorseful about his involvement in the apocalypse and hoped he was merely being arrogant or self righteous, and that his nonchalance did not stem from his being a sociopath.
That would just be his luck, to be stuck in the middle of nowhere with a group of humans and vampires who wanted to tear each other apart, and surrounded by hordes of rotters more than happy to help out.
Pushing such pleasant thoughts from his mind, Robson went off to find Daytona and prep the vehicles for tonight.
* * *
Thompson walked back to the intersection of Route 87 and Dunwoody Road, turning northwest and proceeding down the latter toward an empty home about a quarter of a mile ahead. He had no particular reason to go there other than as a distraction to keep his mind off the argument with that asshole Robson, and worse, the dressing down he received from Compton. The former didn’t bother him that much, for he expected nothing more from a vamp hugger like Robson. But being humiliated in front of these people by Compton was too much for his pride to take. Shit, he deserved better than that. A hell of a lot better.
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