31 May
We spent almost two weeks on construction and building projects. Each night, we would seal ourselves inside the bunker and wait for the dawn. Despite our best attempts, we just couldn't seem to find where the Stalkers were hiding during the day. There were several times when we had to deal with wandering groups of the dead, but we still made good time on the construction.
We stayed in daily contact with the group of survivors in Lebanon. They wanted to be sure that we weren’t going to try to take their gear before they agreed to meet up with us. I couldn’t say that I blamed them. In fact, I was worried about the exact same thing. As much as I wanted to trust people, the Freemen had taught me to be careful of other groups. We couldn’t afford another lengthy fight.
The forge was up and working, largely thanks to Heather taking over the project. Snake and I might be able to work the forge, but building it was beyond our skills. The construction of the defenses went much faster when we located some heavy equipment in a nearby shop. It was only one backhoe and a bulldozer, but it made all the difference in the world.
We'd even managed to scrounge up a pick-up load of coal at a nearby garage. Heather had constructed a bellows to force air into the coals and powered it with the engine off of a lawnmower. It forced a continuous stream of air into the coals and produced tremendous heat. Far more than they had been able to manage in the middle ages.
Snake and I had spent the better part of a day forging the Halligan bar into my new weapon. We had originally planned to weld the head off of the splitting maul onto it, but I decided that I wanted something with a little more weight to it. What we found worked out even better than we had hoped. We found a piece of steel that looked like it had once been part of a bridge crossbeam. It was heavy and solid, but covered in rust and not perfectly shaped.
It looked...well…it looked like the head of a war hammer. We cleaned it up and heated it until it was red-hot. While it was heating, we cut the wedge and the spike off of the end of the Halligan, leaving the crowbar end intact. Once both pieces were glowing, Snake held them together with tongs while I started pounding it into the shape I wanted.
It was hot, tiring and heavy work. Three times we reheated the steel, only to begin the shaping with the hammer, all over again. Once it was one glowing piece of steel, we heated it until it was almost white hot. I held it aloft and screamed its name to the Gods.
“Brjótanir!” I screamed, holding it above my head.
Then I thrust it into a pool of spring water. The cloud of steam that erupted from the heated steel billowed around us and made it difficult to see. The sky had been growing steadily darker as a storm rolled in. Lightning was flashing through the sky as I pulled it out of the water, for the last time. It gleamed in the dying light and I knew that it was ready.
The other crews had been busy, as well. We now had a moat and a fence that was high enough to keep the undead at bay. They flooded it by redirecting part of the spring. Our biggest concern now, was locating and destroying whatever place that the Stalkers were using. Our next priority was going to have to be tracking those damned things down and putting them out of the equation, permanently.
I could see the others were already making their way into the bunker, preparing to lock ourselves in until the Stalkers fled the morning light. Dropping the damper lid into place over the forge, Snake and I grabbed our gear and headed in with the others. My last sight of the world above ground was of lighting flashing through the sky and the rain beginning to pour down. In the flash of light, I could see the first Stalkers emerging from the far side of the river. Now I knew which way they were coming from.
We headed down the stairs and sealed the door behind us. Gunny was waiting for us with a clipboard, checking off names. Since we were the last two inside, he gave us a thumbs-up when we sealed the door. With the dead ruling the night, we couldn’t afford to leave anyone outside. There wasn’t much chance that they would last the night out there.
Snake and I hit the showers and then joined everyone in the dining hall for a meal. I fitted my new weapon with a nylon sling off of an M-4, and secured it down tight. It would work well as a sling to carry it with. The handle was already textured to prevent slippage in your hands, so I didn’t see any reason to wrap it with leather. The final step was when Snake created a bind-rune[18] that combined all of the runes making up the name, Brjótanir. This was etched into the head of the hammer with a chisel.
Above our heads, we could hear the rumble of thunder. It was going to be quite the storm. If we could hear the thunder this far underground, then it must really be loud on the surface. With any luck, the lighting would take out a bunch of the Stalkers. With the rivers already swollen from rain, this new storm was going to push them even farther above their banks.
After a quiet night with my family, we rested. Thankfully, I didn’t have any dreams. It was a good night. Karen had turned our small quarters into a nice little apartment. Even the dogs had their own places to sleep. Odin slept on a couple of inmate mattresses that they had brought from the jail. Thor slept on a thick blanket, next to the boys.
Heather had started working with the dogs, using her training as a military dog handler. I was amazed how quickly the dogs were picking up the commands. Although not the most aggressive dogs I’d ever seen, both of them were very protective of their family. Mastiffs don’t have to be as aggressive as a German Sheppard. They make up for it in sheer size. Odin weighed in at almost a hundred and thirty pounds and Thor hit almost one seventy five.
01 June
By the time we finished breakfast, it was well past 0700 hours. I could still hear the occasional clap of thunder, so we knew that construction would probably be put on hold for the day. Besides that, if it was still overcast, we had no way of knowing if the Stalkers were still around. I was considering telling everyone to stay inside, but I had the feeling that I was forgetting something.
“I want to keep everyone inside,” I said to Gunny. “No sense in risking everyone if the storm is still going.”
“Why do I have the feeling that you’re going up there, anyway?” asked Gunny, smiling.
“Don’t worry, Jarhead,” I said, retuning the smile. “If I see any sign of trouble, I’m heading right back inside.”
“You going alone?” he asked, looking concerned.
“No,” answered Snake. “I’m going with him.”
“Me, too,” said Spec-4, reaching for her gear bag.
“I’m with you,” said Southard, standing up.
“I guess it’s the four of us,” I said, grinning at Gunny. “Grab your gear and be ready in five.”
We all grabbed our bags and met by the door to the stairs. After a weapons check and a radio check, we all shouldered our packs. Mine was loaded with extra ammunition, three MREs, a first aid kit and extra socks. I wasn’t planning on being out for very long, but it never hurt to be prepared. I never expected to be downriver at the lake for almost a week, either.
Gunny, First Sergeant Gregory, Sanders and Webber all grabbed their weapons and stood by the door. They would be our backup if we came in with the dead hot on our heels. They would seal the door behind us, but they’d be standing by on the radio to open it for us in a hurry, if we needed it. I was hoping that we wouldn’t.
Securing my helmet strap, I slipped my radio mic into place and nodded to Gunny. Spec-4 and Southard crouched down, aiming their weapons at the door. Snake and I shouldered ours and aimed over their heads. Gunny grabbed the locking lever and got ready to open the door.
“Now,” I said, tightening my grip on the weapon.
With a heavy metallic clunk, the locking mechanism released and the door began to swing open. We all braced for anything and kept our weapons trained on the ever-widening gap in the door. When nothing immediately hit the door, Gunny swung it open the rest of the way. We kept our weapons trained, but saw only an empty stairwell. So far, so good.
I stepped past Spec-4 and into the stairwell. Swingi
ng the weapon up, I panned around and found no immediate threats. Keeping my weapon trained on the top of the stairs, I motioned with my left hand for them to move forward. When I heard the door closing behind us, I started up the stairs.
I stayed to the left side and Spec-4 came up on my right. We advanced up the stairs, slowly and deliberately. When we reached the top of the stairs, I swung to the left and Spec-4 swung to the right. Snake and Southard emerged from behind us and swept the hallway. We cleared each room of the small building before we approached the door to the outside.
I could see that it was still heavily raining and the water stood in deep puddles. I paused at the door and peeked out into the gloom, beyond the door. The sky was dark and overcast shrouding the daylight in a grey haze. With the heavy rain and the gloom, our visibility was reduced to about thirty yards. The air felt electric with the power of the discharge of lighting that occasionally lit up the sky. The thunder rolled with a continuous rumble, sometimes louder and fading away into the distance.
"Why are we up here?" asked Spec-4.
"I'm not sure," I said, peering out into the gloom. "I had the feeling that I needed to check on something."
"Whatever it is," said Southard, "let's get it over with and get back inside before we all catch pneumonia."
Cautiously, I stepped out into the rain. Instantly, I felt the large drops soaking into my clothes and running down my head into my face. Keeping my weapon up and ready, I began sweeping the area. I turned slowly in a complete circle, scanning 360 degrees. Aside from the rain and thunder, it was eerily quiet. I froze mid-step when I heard a faint noise.
Motioning for everyone to keep quiet, I cocked my head and strained to hear it again. Faintly, I heard it between the rolling thunder. It was a high-pitched mournful sound, almost like crying. It didn't sound like a human, though. It sounded familiar to me. My mind raced through all the possibilities, struggling to recall the memory. I knew it was an animal, but which one I couldn't remember. Then the sudden revelation dawned on me with absolute clarity.
"It's a dog," I said, surprised.
"Where?" asked Spec-4.
"Follow me," I said, and headed off into the storm at a rapid pace.
I could hear the others splashing along behind me as I headed for the bridge that led to the other side of the park. We had a reinforced gate made out of wood and a steel frame that Heather designed and helped build. While it wouldn't stand up to a heavy vehicle like a tank or a large truck, not many things would. It would hold against the undead, and even most of the living. It would do for now.
The gate was built so that it could be opened to allow vehicles to enter or exit, but it also had a man-sized door built into it. It was heavily bolted and reinforced from the inside. I unlatched the bolts and grabbled the handle. The others covered the door while I swung it open enough to see what was on the other side. Thankfully, it was clear.
Wiping the water out of my eyes, I leveled my weapon and stepped through. I instantly swung to the left while the others filed through and swept in different directions. Once we were certain that the bridge was clear, we peered over the edge and into the water. The heavy downpour had the water running swiftly beneath us, carrying with it various pieces of flotsam in the form of branches, logs and the occasional piece of stray lawn furniture.
We started to move towards the far end of the bridge when I heard the whine again. It was almost directly beneath us. There was enough room beneath the bridge that something could have gotten under there to hide from the rain. I couldn't understand how the Stalkers hadn't gotten it during the night. It was definitely right below us.
"Cover me," I said. "I'm going down there."
"Are you nuts?" asked Southard. "If you fall into that water, you'll drown."
"Then I'd better not fall in," I said, climbing over the rail.
The grass along this side of the water was pitched at about a forty-five degree angle, so I had to be careful of my footing. I could see where something had happened in the grass, recently. The ground was torn up and there was marks in the dirt, like something had been dragged away. I could see several scraps of cloth that looked like they had been torn from a jacket or a shirt.
I also saw numerous expended brass casings. They looked to be a mixture of rifle and pistol cartridges. I picked one up and sniffed it. The distinct smell of cordite was still quite strong. They had been fired recently. Maybe even as recently as last night. I could see where there had been a fight. Someone had made a stand right here. The blood must have been washed away by the heavy rain.
I glanced around and saw something in the mud at the edge of the water. It had been stepped on and squished into the clay-like mud and crushed down into it, nearly covering it completely. It was a handgun, covered in mud. I pulled it out and shook the worst of the grime off of it. Then I dipped it into the water to rinse off more.
It had to be a cop's gun. I could tell that by the fact that it was a Glock and it also had the logo of the department on the end of the slide. It read Missouri State Highway Patrol, Troop I. The slide was locked back and open. The weapon was empty. Whoever it belonged to, he didn't go down without a fight. I had to respect that.
If there had been a fight, then he either didn't hit anything or the Stalkers carry off everything, including their own dead. I found that thought even more disturbing than I did them carrying off the living. It only served to make them more horrifying. I don't know why, but the Stalkers really made my blood run cold. They were terrifying.
The whine came again, only this time it was only a few feet away. Activating the tactical light on my weapon, I aimed it under the bridge. There wasn't much room under there, but I could see where the beams had made a small opening that led beneath the embankment. It was too small for a person to climb through, but it was about the right size for a dog.
I swept the light into the opening and saw the reflection of eyes in the darkness. It startled me. Panning the light through the gloom, I saw the poor thing huddled in the back of the depression. It was a very scared looking Belgian Malinois. It slinked back when I moved, obviously scared half to death. Even police dogs would be right to be afraid of the dead.
"It's alright," I said, soothingly. "I'm not going to hurt you. Come here."
I motioned with my hand, gesturing for it to come to me. It just watched me and whined. I could see that it had blood on its fur. I couldn't tell if it was wounded or if the blood had belonged to someone, or something else.
I could see it wore a collar that had a brass name-plate on it. I couldn't read it, since it was covered with a mixture of mud and blood. From the look of the collar, I assumed that this had been a police dog, probably partner to the officer who fell defending it. Dog handlers are a special kind of partners with their dogs. They form deep bonds and would die to protect each other.
I was never a dog handler, but I knew that they trained them to respond to commands in German so that your average criminal couldn't confuse the dog with yelled commands. It had been years since I had last used my German language skills. Even when I used them a lot, I was never very good at it. Out of the few dozen words I could actually recall, I tried to think of something useful.
"Kommen sie hier[19]," I said, in halting German. "Hier, komm!"
The poor thing looked confused and actually edged towards me, slightly. I could tell that it wanted to trust me, but it was still scared. I couldn't blame it. The Stalkers scared me, too. I was just better at covering it. Recalling a few more commands, I tried something else.
" Fuß![20]" I called.
This time it began crawling towards me, whining as it did. I could see that it was dragging one of its hind legs. At least part of the blood must be its own. I didn't know what a zombie bite would do to a dog, but I really hoped that it wasn't the same as what happened to humans. I really didn't want to see zombie animals. People were plenty bad enough.
" Braver Hund! " I said. "Hier! Komm!"
I was pretty sure tha
t meant good dog, come here. Then again, I may have just insulted its mother, too. Like I said, my German was very rusty. I was hoping I hadn't just called the dog out to attack me. On top of everything that had happened to me lately, I didn't want to add "bit by a dog" to it.
It worked its way clear of the hole and crawled out to me. I reached down gently and stroked its head. Whining, it reached up and began licking my hand. I started petting it on the side and it rolled onto its back. I could see two things, then. One, it was a female. The other was that it had deep scratches down the inside of the right rear leg. They had stopped bleeding, but the wound was raw and needed to be cleaned before it got infected.
Tucking the pistol into my cargo pocket, I picked the dog up as gently as I could. It whined softly as I lifted it, but it just nuzzled into my chest and didn't resist. I carried it back to the edge of the bridge. Snake reached down and gently took the poor animal from me and lifted it up, effortlessly. Slinging my weapon, I started to climb back over the railing.
"Wylie!" said Spec-4, a note of panic in her voice. "You might want to hurry!"
I vaulted over the railing as fast as I could go, reaching for my rifle before I even hit the asphalt. I could see Spec-4 and Southard were staring off towards the Visitor's Center and had their weapons tight against their shoulders. Turning that way, I brought my own weapon up and flipped the selector switch from safe to semi-auto. What I saw made my blood run cold in my veins.
The heavy rain was creating a haze that was difficult to see through. Our visibility was reduced to less than thirty yards, at best. There, just at the edge of our vision were figures in the mist. The just stood there, not moving. The longer you looked, the more vague figures could be seen in the mist. I couldn't count how many there were, but it had to be a lot. There must have been dozens of them.
"Fall back," I hissed, trying to keep my voice low.
"They're behind us, too," said Spec-4. "They're between us and the entrance to the bunker."
"What do we do?" asked Southard, concern in his voice.
Ragnarok Rising: The Crossing (The Ragnarok Rising Saga) Page 23