Threat Ascendant

Threat Ascendant Page 1

by Brian M. Switzer

  Title Page

  * * *

  Threat Ascendant

  Brian M. Switzer

  Volume four of the Haven series

  The Learned Pig Publishing Co. 2018

  Copyright

  * * *

  Copyright © Learned Pig Publishing Co. 2018

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form on by an electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

  Dedication

  * * *

  This book is dedicated to my wife- the picture of grace, patience, and selflessness. I may turn my nose up at the books you read but I’ll always appreciate your love and support.

  Prologue

  * * *

  Kayla looked back at the messy, uneven column stretched a quarter-mile down Central Avenue. They had pulled out of The Glorious Church of the Redeemer three hours ago looking like a well-trained and lethal battalion ready to rain hellfire on any who opposed them. She led the charge in the passenger seat of a topless jeep. Just behind rolled her pride and joy- a ponderous, wheel-mounted mortar with its tube pointed to the sky. Truth be told, they only had a few shells for it, and it wasn’t an effective weapon for firing into tunnels. But the point of marching on the Underground in formation was to scare any rubes still huddling in their houses and peeking out the windows. And to scare the people in the tunnels, if they were foolish enough to still be there. Short of a howitzer, not much was scarier than a frame-mounted four-foot tube that could rain death on an enemy miles away.

  Now, though, her army was three miles into its march. Boredom and fatigue had settled in. The morning sun was unseasonably warm and her troops were sweaty and thirsty under the weight of their weapons and body armor. They straggled alone or in clumps, scattered across the thoroughfare in no particular order. Every few feet they craned their necks and peeked over their shoulders for a glimpse of the growing herd of the dead shuffling along in their wake. The column picked up its first demon when they were barely off the church grounds; at last report, over one hundred of them trailed behind it now, drawn like sharks to blood by the army’s noise and movement. Shots rang out at a regular clip as the team Magnus drew together to protect the army from the demons kept a two-hundred-yard no-man’s-land between them and the rear echelon of the column.

  She glared at him, clopping next to her jeep on the back of a bay mare. He dipped his head and gave her the big, toothy grin that always sent twin shivers of desire and fear down her spine. She gave her driver a backhanded whack in the arm. “Stop this God damned thing.” The driver braked obediently and kept his eyes glued to the road in front of him.

  Magnus directed his horse to the side of the Jeep. He wore a checkered flannel shirt despite the heat and his tousled, jet-black hair was damp with sweat. Still, his penetrating eyes sparkled and his sly smile didn’t falter. “I’d suggest we don’t stop very long, my Queen. The dead are already coming at us the rear. If we sit still, we risk having the attack our flanks, as well. It’d be a shame to see your army destroyed when victory is a mile down the road.”

  She ignored him. “Look at that.” She gestured at the column strung out behind them. “Some army. It looks like Muhammad Ali playing with a set of toy soldiers back there. We are not moving until you get that rabble squared away into something that resembles an intimidating fighting force.”

  Mangus tipped an imaginary hat, turned his horse in a tight circle, and rode off to talk to his lieutenants.

  Kayla reached an empty hand out to her driver. "Water," she demanded, not deigning to cast her eyes upon the man. He jerked and thrust his hand into a portable cooler of ice perched in an uncomfortable-looking spot between his butt and the Jeep's door. He came out with a bottle of water, unscrewed the cap, and held it out for her- all without looking in her direction.

  She poured the cold water in her open mouth without touching the rim of the bottle, dabbed moisture off of her lips with the back of her hand, and shoved the bottle back to her driver. Looking around, she tried to hide her utter disgust. She hated this. Hated being around these people, hated sitting in the open air in this loud, uncomfortable truck, and she hated the blue jeans and simple silk blouse she wore. As far as she was concerned, they could've completed this whole dreary business while she sat in her office and awaited news of her victory. But Mangus, her assistant, Debbie, and the two or three other advisers who had her implicit trust all agreed. It was important that the troops see her at the front of the column during the short trip to their new home.

  "They aren't marching to take over of the Underground," Magnus had told her. "Half of them don't know what that is. They are marching in support of their leader, their Queen, who they love and would die for. They need to see you out front, a constant reminder of what it is they are marching, fighting, and dying for."

  Likewise, they convinced her it was just as important that she be on hand to take official control when it was safe for her to do so. "As soon as we clear the place out and kill off any resistance, if there is any… "

  Kayla interrupted him, intrigued. "Resistance? Do you think they'll fight?"

  "I hope not. I did my best to stress to the kid what a suicidal move it would be. But you can never tell with people. Either way, if they stay and fight or if they don't, as soon as the caves are secure the people need to see you stand in the middle of that big hole in the ground and claim the place as your own."

  That got her juices flowing- the thought of riding down the hill, the eyes of two thousand of her subjects on her as she arrived to take what was hers. She had her outfit for that moment already picked out and had decided how she would fix her hair and makeup. The only thing that would make it better was a few a survivor or two among the community she was evicting. One of their council members… or not, it didn't really matter, as long as it was someone who could officially hand over the territory in front of her subjects.

  She would have to speak to Magnus about that. On the off chance they hadn't all fled he should keep a few of them alive so they could take part in a glorious handoff celebration. She'd have them killed after they served their purpose, of course.

  Unless. What if Coy hadn’t run but stayed to fight? Was there any way to bring that delectable little morsel over to her side after she ordered the death of everyone he knew and loved? Now that was something to ponder. She'd pulled off more unlikely things, of that she had no doubt.

  In the long run, it didn't matter. In a few hours she would complete a conquest, the initial conquest on the way to her controlling the entire Midwest of the United States. It was planned out. Huge things were in her future and millions would call her Queen.

  But before that, she had to make sure her tunnels were empty of rats.

  1

  * * *

  "Get away. Go away, or I'll scream."

  Danny resisted the urge to grab the shoulders of the thirteen-year-old girl blocking his path and shake the shit out of her. "Move your skinny ass, girl. Will gave me a job to do. You know Will- big fella, bushy hair, runs the place? You want me to go back and tell him I couldn't get his job done because of you?"

  "I'm not keeping you from getting a job done. Go, do it. But not on horseback. At least not on these horses." To emphasize her point Meghan spread her arms wide, completely blocking access to the pen.

  Danny gave the teen his best, most seductive, smile- the one that once coaxed Miss Rodeo Kansas out of everything except her tiara. "Meghan, it's more than a mile-long walk and it’s dark. You don't want to see the creepers g
et me, do you, sweetie?"

  "That's why you can’t have a horse. It's dangerous to ride them on the road in the dark."

  "Look, I appreciate you worrying about my safety-"

  She stomped her foot and interrupted him. "Grrrr. I don't care if you get hurt, you conceited baboon. It's dangerous for the horses. They could step off the road and hurt their knee, or step in the hole and break their leg. Or any number of things. Walk, or come back after daybreak."

  "Conceited bab… Girl, I ought to put you over my knee."

  Meghan drew herself up to her full four feet, ten inches and stuck out her chin in defiance. "I'd like to see you try."

  Danny's chuckle was without mirth. Will’s number two, killer of creepers, bedder of beautiful women, respected throughout the camp; and here he was, losing an argument with a teenage orphan who liked animals more than people.

  Seeing his hesitation, she went for the kill. "I'm done talking to you. Go away and come back in the morning, or I will scream. I'm serious.”

  "I don't care if you-" he began but her high-pitched, earsplitting scream cut him off. He grabbed her by the arm, thinking only of stopping the infernal noise. She reacted by screaming louder at a higher octave. He winced and covered his ears with his hands. "Jesus Christ stop, you’re going to cause my eardrums to—"

  Six-foot, ten-inch tall Jiri Gorski materialized out of thin air. “Hey! What the hell is going on here?”

  Meghan’s shoulder-length, mousy-brown hair swung through the air as she turned to Jiri and glared at him with wide-set, inky black eyes. "I won't let him have a horse. It's too dangerous for them to be on the road in the dark."

  He gave her a kind smile and ruffled her hair with a palm the size of a ping pong paddle. "I understand. That's no problem- we can walk."

  She put her hands on her hips and glowered at Danny in triumph.

  He rolled his eyes, then pointed a finger at her. "Next time, you do as your elders tell you to do."

  She flipped him the bird. "Sit on it and spin."

  He sputtered a moment then turned and gave Jiri a wondering look. They both walked away from the horse pen. "Way to have my back, Professor."

  "You should thank me. I saved you from a beating at the hands of a thirteen-year-old girl.”

  2

  * * *

  The pair began the long, uphill trek to the road. Danny spit through his teeth and threw Jiri a caustic glare.

  "If we get eaten by creepers, the history books will say it was your fault. We could be safe, up on the back of a couple of horses, but no- you were afraid of a teenage girl. So we have to risk our lives walking."

  "You complain like an old washerwoman."

  "An old what? What the hell is that?"

  "A washerwoman. You know, a woman who washes." Jiri's shoulders slumped. "Hell, I don't know. It was something you heard in the city when I was a kid."

  Danny saw a golf ball-sized rock in the middle of the road. He kicked it soccer-style and threw his arms over his head in triumph. "Goallllll," he mimicked a popular Mexican soccer announcer from before the outbreak.

  They rounded the curve and bent forward as they attacked the steepest part of the hill. It leveled off at the entrance gate and they stopped, waiting for the ‘no creepers’ signal from the watchers in the towers.

  Jiri eyed Danny. "Do you have the note?"

  Danny squinted up at him. "Note?"

  "The note. That we're leaving behind the Burger King? The whole reason for this trip?"

  "Aw, fuck."

  "Dammit, Danny. I'm not walking up and down that hill again. I won’t do it. You go get it, and I'll stay here and talk to the guys in the towers."

  Danny pulled a folded up piece of paper from his back pocket and held it out to Jiri with an impish smile. "Oh, did you mean this note?"

  Jiri looked down at the ground and shook his head, but he was smiling. "It would be just like you to forget it."

  Danny mimed a football referee throwing a penalty flag. "I call a bullshit penalty on that. My mind is a steel trap and I possess the memory of an elephant. I never forget anything."

  Jiri kicked at loose pieces of gravel on the pavement. "What's taking these guys so long?"

  Just then, a watcher stuck his upper body out the tower window and stage-whispered down to them. "Are you guys okay?"

  They craned their necks and peered up at the ten-foot-high window. "We're fine," Jiri said. "Why?"

  "We gave you the okay signal right after you got up here."

  Jiri gave Danny a dark look, then they ducked under the gate and resumed their walk. It was twenty-five yards from the towers to the county road. They turned left toward Carthage and passed by the remains of an old fabrication shop. It wasn't much to see- four sheet metal buildings shoved together in an L shape. Will sent a team to clear and scavenge it on their third day at the quarry. Other scavengers had stripped it of anything useful, save for two hundred cinder blocks sinking into the ground behind the structures.

  Right after the old factory, they crossed a bridge. The river below flowed past the bridge then dog-legged and ran alongside the road. They walked in silence for a quarter-mile, until they reached the bottom of the hill. The river turned again there, running off to the east. They crossed a set of railroad tracks that marked the city limits of Carthage.

  Danny's head moved in a constant search for danger as they walked. "This is the part I hate," he grumbled. "Will's right about staying out of towns. There could be creepers behind any of those houses."

  The houses sprung up on the other side the train tracks. An empty grassland dotted with a few trees sat on their right, but on the left loomed three blocks of abandoned homes. Most of them were a step or two above a shack; they were old and run down, with unattached garages and cramped backyards.

  Jiri motioned to a house where the roof had blown off and landed in the front yard next door "This isn't where the cream of Carthage lived."

  "No, but I know the sort of people that lived here- we had them back home."

  "What do you mean?"

  Danny stopped and pointed it a small house stripped of paint at the end of the block. "Okay, look. Shitty house. Old, beat-to-shit truck. But, see that Jon boat out back? Newish, well cared for… it’s probably worth more than the truck. The folks who lived along here didn't care about their houses. They wanted to be close to the river. These folks were fishermen and hunters and trappers. They couldn't get a place out in the country, so this was second best. Barely inside the town line and a river less than a hundred yards away."

  "Would you have bought one of these houses if you lived here?"

  Danny shook his head and gave a derisive snort. "Nope, not me. I'm a cowboy. If I can't step out my door in the morning and smell cow shit, I'm in the wrong place."

  "Philistine."

  "Yeah? What about you? What's your heaven?"

  Jiri yawned and stretched his long arms out at his sides. "Somewhere where there's a good cup of coffee within walking distance. A stack of newspapers from across the country on my table, next to an onion bagel. And a good Wi-Fi connection."

  "I would've guessed your answer would have something to do with basketball."

  "Nah. I got that out of my system. I played a lot of pickup ball on campus, but I would've been fine if I had to quit playing." He pointed at a structure up ahead on the right side of the road. "There."

  It was a cloudless night with a full moon; from a half block away, it was easy to make out the familiar outline of the Burger King. Danny stuck the tips of his fingers in his back pocket to make sure the note was still there. "I got the note. Did you bring a flashlight?"

  Jiri tapped the metal cylinder hanging from his belt.

  "You find the right rock. I'll watch for the dead."

  3

  * * *

  The Carthage Burger King was an ugly building squatting in a parking lot choked with potholes and cracked aspha
lt. Like most businesses sixteen months after the outbreak, most of the big panes of glass in front and along the sides were busted out, making approaching them in the dark a risky proposition. Fortunately, the rear of the building was solid brick, so there was no broken glass for Jiri to contend with as he hunted for a square block of limestone that Kayla’s spy, Rohon, swore he couldn’t miss.

  He cast the flashlight beam left to right in short arcs, hunting for the rock. Everywhere he pointed the light, it illuminated the piles of trash and the dead and yellowed weeds that claimed the parking lot last summer. The offended squeaks and rustling footsteps of field mice and a few of their larger and more dangerous cousins, rats, provided a backdrop to his search.

  After two minutes of looking, his peripheral vision picked up a dull, white square off to his right. He trained the light back in that direction, and there it was- a piece of limestone that cut into a perfect rectangle, about the size of a shoebox.

  "I got it," he called to Danny, standing off to his left and turning in slow circles to watch for the dead from every direction.

  "Good. Hurry it up- this place gives me the willies."

  Jiri turned the rock over. Underneath, a small, empty space was lined with stainless steel sleeves that looked like bookends from a library or school. A gallon-sized plastic bag, the kind with a zipper on top was at the bottom of the hole. The bag was dirty, but when he rubbed his fingers across the interior, he found it clean and dry; the muck was on the outside.

  "Bring the note over."

  Danny picked his way around the trash dead vegetation. It wasn't until he tripped over a clump of withered grass that Jiri thought to shine the flashlight in his path.

  "Thanks, buddy. Just in time." Danny's voice dripped with sarcasm as he rubbed his hands together to clean off the dirt and debris that stuck when he caught himself to keep from falling. He made it the rest of the way and pulled the note from his back pocket. "Here." He handed it to Jiri and sniffed audibly. "Jesus, it stinks back here."

 

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