Ragnarok Rising: The Crossing (The Ragnarok Rising Saga)

by Roberts, D. A.

  We drove in silence for almost half an hour, passing a few abandoned cars on the sides of the road and quite a few empty houses. We were traveling on the back roads, east from Springfield. I knew this road would take us out near the small town of Strafford. Under normal circumstances, the trip wouldn’t have taken more than fifteen or twenty minutes. Unfortunately, these were far from normal circumstances.

  I didn’t see any signs of movement, either living or dead, as we drove. Somehow, instead of making me feel better it just made things worse. I was keeping my speed down to give me more reaction time to anything that appeared. I was glad I did, too. It had proven itself invaluable on a number of occasions.

  As we began to round a curve in the road, I saw a roadblock up ahead. There were two vehicles blocking the road. It had to have been one of the roadblocks that we set up on the day this all began. A Nathaniel County patrol car and a National Guard Humvee blocked the two-lane highway.

  I didn’t see any sign of the officers or the guardsmen, but I also didn’t see any sign of the dead. I let off of the gas and started slowing down, coming to a complete stop about ten yards away from the roadblock. Putting it in park, we sat idling in place as I pondered the sight ahead of me.

  “Why don’t we just go through the ditch?” asked Elliott, pointing to the sides of the road.

  “Do you see those yellow strips in the grass?” I replied, gesturing.

  “Yeah,” he answered. “What are they?”

  “Spike strips,” answered Southard. “If we hit those, we’ll lose our tires.”

  “Oh,” said Elliott. “That wouldn’t be good.”

  “Besides that,” said Spec-4, “if I know your dad, he’s planning on scavenging both vehicles.”

  I smiled without turning towards her and shook my head.

  “No,” I replied. “I’m going to scavenge one and take the other. Chuck, hit the turret and cover me.”

  “On it,” he said, reaching for the release on the turret hatch.

  Seconds later, he was behind the SAW and worked the bolt. I waited for him to pound on the roof to let me know he was ready. When the signal came, I nodded to Spec-4 and we climbed out at the same time. Elliott was right behind us, bringing his weapon up to his shoulder as he stood.

  “Stick close to us,” I said over my shoulder. “If things get ugly, get your ass back in the Humvee. Your mother will never forgive me if I let you get bit.”

  “She won’t be thrilled with me if you get bit, either,” he replied, grinning.

  “What about me?” asked Spec-4, smiling.

  “I’ll bite you,” volunteered Southard.

  We all chuckled as we moved towards the vehicles, weapons at the ready. I motioned for Spec-4 to sweep to the right while I went to the left. Elliott followed behind me with his weapon tight against his shoulder, sweeping the ditch. I approached cautiously and stayed well away from the front bumper of the Humvee as I headed for the other side. There was a lot of expended brass on the ground, but no weapons. I didn’t see any bodies, but there was a lot of dried blood. Glancing inside the Humvee, I didn’t see anyone or anything.

  “Clear,” I said, loud enough for Spec-4 to hear me.

  “I’ve got a couple bodies over here,” she replied. “There’s nothing moving. I’m clear.”

  I glanced into the patrol cruiser as I walked past it, heading for where Spec-4 was standing. In the ditch, I saw four bodies, one of which was in jail black BDU’s. They must have been there since the first day. Although the bodies were badly decomposed, I could clearly read the nametag on the officer’s uniform. It read Landon and had Corporal stripes on the sleeves.

  Ray Landon was on my shift. He was one of the people that were unaccounted for and presumed dead. I had always hoped we’d find him alive and well, barricaded inside a house or something. Ray was a good man. A devout Christian, he was always the first to offer his hand if you needed help. I had the utmost respect for Ray. He was my friend and a damned good man.

  I knelt beside him and began praying. Although I wasn’t praying to his God, I hoped he wouldn’t be offended that I was praying for him to mine. Ray deserved better than lying in a ditch, but the best I could do for him right now was to offer a prayer for his passing into the next world. I wish I could do more.

  When I finished praying, I quickly checked Ray’s belt for anything we could use. His pistol was gone and his magazine pouches were empty. His handcuffs and pepper spray were still on his belt, so I stripped it off and tossed it to Spec-4. She caught it and laid it on the trunk of the patrol cruiser.

  “Goodbye, Ray,” I whispered, and stood up.

  Just as I was starting to turn away, I noticed that Ray had something clutched in his hand. I bent over him and opened it as gently as I could. Clutched in his palm was a gold cross with a broken chain. With a grim smile, I placed the cross on his chest and stood up.

  Spec-4 was smiling at me as I turned back to her. She obviously approved of my decision. Elliott, however, was concentrating on something at the edge of the road about twenty yards from where I was standing. I nodded at Spec-4 and we headed over to see what he was looking at.

  “What did you find, son?” I asked.

  “Blood trail,” he replied, not looking up.

  When I reached him, I could see in the soft soil on the edge of the road that there had indeed been something bloody dragged this way. I could see the faded tracks of two people with the drag marks between them, leading away from the road.

  “It looks like two people survived and carried off someone who was wounded,” I said, pointing at the tracks.

  “There’s a farmhouse beyond those trees,” said Spec-4. “I caught a glimpse of it when we first stopped.”

  “What do we do, now?” asked Elliott, nervously.

  “We get that other Humvee started and check out the farmhouse,” I replied. “If there’s a chance that anyone is alive, I want to try to find them. If they’re dead or turned, we’ll take care of that, too. There should have been five or six people assigned to this roadblock and I only see one body from an officer. If the others had fallen here, there would be more uniforms.”

  “Unless they turned,” observed Spec-4, frowning.

  “Yeah,” I admitted. “That’s possible. Still, if there’s any chance at all…”

  “I know,” she whispered. “If there are any of the guardsmen still alive, then I’m sure I know them. They’d be from my unit.”

  “Alright, then,” I said, turning back towards the roadblock. “Elliott, get rid of those spike strips. Wilder and I will try to get the Humvee started. Chuck, cover us and let me know if you see anything coming our way.”

  “Got it,” said Southard, slipping on his sunglasses.

  The sun was a blazing disk in the morning sky, promising a warm day to come. The sky was virtually cloudless and there was a slight breeze. Had it not been for the dead returning, this would have been a perfect day. Under different circumstances, I would have gotten up early and taken my sons fishing. I really hoped that things would one day be safe enough for us to do that again. It was moments like that I cherished.

  Spec-4 covered me as I swung open the driver’s side door of the Humvee. A quick sweep of the interior revealed nothing. Whoever had abandoned it had cleared it out before they left. The only thing in the back was two fuel cans, both full. That was good news for us. At least we’d have plenty of fuel to run both vehicles.

  “Go ahead and search the cruiser while I try to get this thing going,” I said to Spec-4 as I slid into the driver’s seat.

  “On it,” she replied, and headed off.

  I activated the ignition and breathed a sigh of relief when the lights on the dash lit up. When they turned green, I engaged the starter. It coughed and sputtered, before coming to life. I let it idle to warm up the engine after sitting for so long. Spec-4 leaned into the door and smiled.

  “Looks like we have another vehicle,” she said with a wink.

  “Look
s like,” I agreed. “We’re going to need it if we find any survivors.”

  “Why wouldn’t they take the vehicles?” she asked, her brow wrinkling.

  “I don’t know,” I replied. “That’s what I would have done.”

  “That’s what we did do,” she said, chuckling. “Why walk through zombie territory when you have an Up-armored Humvee?”

  “Maybe they didn’t have time,” said Elliott. “If they were being chased by the dead, they might have just run for it.”

  “No way,” said Spec-4. “They took the time to clear out both vehicles and carry their wounded. They had plenty of time.”

  “We’ll ask them when we find them,” I said. “Elliott, do you think you can drive a Humvee?”

  “Sure, dad,” he said, grinning.

  Spec-4 gave me a questioning glance.

  “I want him to drive so that Chuck is free to get into the turret,” I explained. “I want you in the turret of the other Humvee that I’ll be driving.”

  “Fair enough,” she said, smiling. “Think he can handle it?”

  “Elliott,” I said, “you stay behind me. Let me do the rough stuff. I’ll make the holes and clear the path. If you think you can’t handle it, tell us now. No one will think any less of you.”

  “I can do this, dad,” he said, confidently.

  “He’s your son, alright,” muttered Spec-4. “Let’s just hope he’s a better driver.”

  I just smiled and slid out of the seat.

  “She’s all yours, son,” I said, gesturing towards the steering wheel.

  He grinned as he slid behind the wheel and I took a few moments to explain all of the controls. He listened intently and repeated things back to me as I pointed at them. I already knew he was a good driver, but a Humvee handles differently than my old Ford pick-up.

  “If you have any questions,” I said, “ask Chuck. He’s an expert on these things.”

  Southard climbed out of the turret of our Humvee and headed for the passenger side of this one. Once he was inside, I stepped back to let him close the door. Southard flashed me a smile and a raised thumb.

  “I won’t let anything happen to him, Wylie,” he promised.

  “I know, Chuck,” I replied.

  “Besides,” he said, grinning, “I’m more afraid of Karen than I am of you.”

  “You should be,” said Elliott, chuckling.

  “Yes, he should,” I agreed. “Let’s move.”

  I headed back towards my own vehicle with Spec-4 right behind me. Once we were inside, Spec-4 activated the SINCGARS[8] radio and waved the handset at Southard. I could see him start working on his own radio. A few seconds later, I heard his voice come out of our speakers.

  “917 to 829, do you read?”

  “We copy,” replied Spec-4. “Loud and clear.”

  “10-4,” said Southard. “We’ll keep our set on, in case you need us.”

  “Copy that,” she said, and sat the mike back on the hook.

  She nodded at me and smiled.

  “Good to go,” she said.

  I fired up the engine and let it idle for a moment. I could see Chuck was pointing at things inside the vehicle and talking to Elliott. That was good. Chuck was a good teacher and he’d have Elliott up to speed on the internal workings of the Humvee in no time at all.

  “You sure you want to let him drive?” asked Spec-4.

  “Yeah,” I said. “He needs to learn and I want my best shots in the turrets in case things turn bad.”

  “So you admit that I’m a better shot than you are?” she said, grinning wickedly.

  “I’m not too proud to admit it,” I said, returning the grin. “I trust your aim more than my own, most of the time. I think I might be better with a pistol, but not by much.”

  “Thank you,” she said, blushing.

  “No thanks are necessary,” I replied. “It’s a fact.”

  “Do you think he can keep up with some of your more insane driving methods?” she asked, grinning again.

  “It’s like in football,” I said, shifting into gear. “I’ll make the hole and provide cover. He just has to follow me through it.”

  Pulling through the ditch, I pulled back onto the highway. Moments later, Elliott pulled in right behind me. I drove slowly, looking for the driveway that led to the farmhouse. It was only about fifty yards up the road and on the right. The gravel driveway led off through the trees towards an old farmhouse that looked like it was from the late 1800’s. Under any other circumstances, it would have been a scene straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting.

  “You might want to get on the SAW,” I said.

  “I don’t see anything,” she said, looking around.

  “I don’t either,” I said. “I’d rather be prepared, just in case.”

  She disappeared into the turret and was behind the SAW in a flash. I slowed down as we approached the front of the house and I could see about a dozen dead wandering around behind the barn. I could also see that the ground floor windows of the farmhouse were boarded-up, from the inside.

  “The house looks secure,” I said. “There might be someone alive inside.”

  The zombies in the barn noticed us and started coming towards us. Two of them wore digital camouflage. That solved the mystery of what happened to the National Guardsmen. I could see Spec-4 spinning the SAW towards them but I reached back and tapped her on the leg.

  “Hang on,” I said. “Let’s stick to silenced weapons, for the moment. No sense making too much noise.”

  “Good point,” she said, and switched to her M-4.

  Behind us, I could see Southard appear in his turret, his M-4 up and aiming. I could already see that he had the silencer in place, so there was no need to tell him. Chuck was thinking the same thing that I was.

  With a half-a-dozen well placed shots, they cleared out the zombies that were coming towards us before they were within fifty yards. Before the last one had quit twitching, I was out of the vehicle and shouldering my weapon. Elliott was out of his before I could wave him off. I really didn’t want to risk him outside the vehicle just yet, but he was already out.

  “Cover us,” I said to Spec-4. “Elliott, stick close to me.”

  He fell in beside me as we approached the farmhouse. Although he lacked my military training, he watched what I did and copied it as best he could. He was doing a decent job, too. He kept his weapon up and swept back and forth.

  “You cover your side,” I said, quietly. “Don’t sweep over me. It’s called cutting the pie.”

  “Cutting the pie,” he repeated. “Got it. I’ll watch my slice.”

  We climbed onto the front porch and approached the door. It was a solid wood door without a window in it. The kind of door that entry teams dreaded because kicking them down was almost impossible. They had probably reinforced it on the inside, as well. We weren’t knocking it down without a breaching charge or a battering ram.

  “Want me to knock?” asked Elliott.

  “Let’s check the back before we do,” I said, moving off of the porch.

  Elliott stayed on my heels as we rounded the porch and approached the back of the house. When we reached the corner, I leaned out to peek around. The windows along the back porch had boards over them and there were several bodies lying on the ground near the door.

  I held my left index finger up to my lips to indicate to Elliott to keep quiet. He nodded and tightened his grip on his weapon. I brought up my weapon and began advancing cautiously. Just as I was reaching the back door, I heard a slapping sound behind me. I turned quickly towards the sound and zeroed in on a concrete depression in the ground. It was an old-fashioned root cellar.

  I approached the steps leading down into the cellar and saw four zombies slapping the old rusty door. It looked like it had weathered a lot of storms without yielding. However, it looked solid enough that it wouldn’t yield to the dead, either. With four rapid shots, I eliminated the dead and watched them fall. In the silence that fell afte
rwards, I held my breath for any other sounds or signs of life. After a long moment, I turned towards my son and shook my head.

  “Do you hear anything?” I whispered.

  “Nothing,” he replied, under his breath.

  “Cover me while I check the cellar,” I said and headed towards the steps.

  I paused to watch for any signs of movement before proceeding. The last thing I wanted to do was get bit while stepping over what I thought was a dead zombie. That would be a boneheaded thing to do. Nudging each one with my boot, I was satisfied that they were inert. The last one seemed a little bit different from the others, so I stomped its face in just to be safe. The skull caved in with a sickening, wet crunch.

  Elliott made a sour face and looked away. He didn’t look like he would throw up, so I didn’t worry about him. I lowered my rifle as I approached the door and used my gloved fist to knock. Just to be different from the zombies that had been beating on the door, I rapped out a distinct patter. Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock….knock, knock. The old shave and a haircut, bit. What the hell…I couldn’t resist.

  “Avon calling,” I said, loud enough for anyone inside to hear me.

  “Who’s out there?” asked a weak voice.

  “Wylie Grant,” I replied. “Nathaniel County Sheriff’s Office.”

  “Wylie?” I heard another voice say. This one was distinctly female.

  I recognized the voice, instantly. It was Rebecca Hargrove from the jail. She was on C-shift, but I knew her well. She and I went to the academy together when we first started in the jail. I was thrilled to know that she was alive.

  “Yeah, Becca,” I replied. “It’s me. Can you open the door?”

  “Sure,” she said, “but I’ve got to warn you. It’s pretty rank in here. We’ve been trapped inside since all this started.”

  “I’m just happy you’re alive,” I answered. “Forget about the rest. How many of you are there?”

  I heard the locking mechanism clank open and saw the door swing outward a few inches before striking a zombie corpse. I had to drag two of them out of the way before they could open the door all the way. When they did, the smell hit me like a punch in the face. They had been inside there for over a month without a bathroom or a shower. It was almost overpowering.