Scorched Earth: Book 2 in the Thrilling Post-Apocalyptic Survival Series: (Zero Hour - Book 2)

by Justin Bell

  “What do you think we’re going to find there?” Jackson asked.

  “Hopefully nothing,” Clark replied. “Or even better, hopefully it’s a remote cabin where girls-only college co-eds are spending their Christmas vacation.”

  Priscilla rolled her eyes while Jackson laughed. Even Broderick chuckled slightly.

  “Her legs are getting tired,” Javier said, motioning toward Melinda. “How are we doing?”

  “Getting there,” Jackson said. “Slowly but surely.” He pulled away and walked toward them. “Yo, Mel, you want a piggy back? Hop on up, I’ll give you a ride.”

  “Sure,” she said, smiling slightly. Jackson let his backpack slide off his arm and held it out for Clark, who snatched it up and pulled it tight over his larger shoulder. Jackson bent low and Melinda clambered up his back, wrapping her arms around his neck and tucking her legs into the crooks of his arms. He stood and continued walking forward, keeping her steady in piggy back position.

  “Daddy used to give me piggy back rides,” Melinda said happily. “He used to walk me all the way to the playground, then let me ride the swings.”

  “Sounds like fun,” Jackson said. “We’ll find you some more swings, I promise. Some really fun ones.”

  “Okay.”

  “Hold up a moment,” Broderick whispered, turning toward them. “There’s a ridge up ahead, let me scout a bit and make sure we’re not stumbling into anything.”

  Clark and Jackson nodded, Priscilla looking upon them and Broderick ducked low, moving forward, feet crashing over dead leaves and dirt, moving around the curled roots wedged into the hard ground. Jackson knelt slightly, keeping Mel on his back, watching the shrinking form of Broderick’s back vanish over the curved ridge of hard ground and scattered, leafless skeleton trees.

  Clark moved toward him, keeping his head low, Priscilla following behind. Javier lingered on the other side.

  “You still sure about this Aldrich thing?” Clark asked.

  Jackson nodded.

  “Our experience with small town New England hasn’t been real positive so far.”

  Jackson looked at him.

  “What?”

  “I don’t know, I’ve been feeling the opposite personally.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Jackson shrugged. “I’ve had some time to think about things since we left Boston. This time we’ve spent in the wilderness. It really reminds me of home. Of Aldrich.”

  “You spent a lot of time getting shot at by townsfolk in Aldrich?”

  Jackson chuckled. “No, but there was a lot of farmland. Lisa lived on a farm. My family were crop dusters for crying out loud. I’ve been missing this. Believe it or not, this is feeling like home, much more so than the tall buildings and busy streets.”

  “Is that why Lisa left?” Clark asked. “I mean, you said something about her mother being sick, but…”

  “I’m pretty sure she was looking for a reason. Tough to blame her. I got so caught up in being a success, I didn’t bother asking myself what being successful really meant.”

  “Turns out it doesn’t mean a corner office in a tall penthouse?”

  “Maybe not.”

  Clark nodded and patted him on the shoulder. “So, Aldrich is even more of a done deal, then? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “Yeah, for sure,” Jackson said. “It’s home. It’s where I should have been the last few years. Besides, what other options do we have?”

  “Broderick’s heading down to Detrick, right? We could… we could tag along, right?”

  Jackson shook his head firmly. “No. I need to at least check on Lisa. She’s expecting me.”

  “I get it,” Clark replied. “I do. We just need to keep the safety of the whole group in mind, right?”

  Jackson glanced over his shoulder toward the little girl on his back, who was looking away, making funny faces at Javier.

  “I understand,” Jackson said. “You guys can do what you think is right. I’m going to Aldrich with or without you.”

  “Fair enough,” Clark said, his voice a bit edgier than he probably intended.

  “I’m not trying to start a fight,” Jackson continued.

  “It’s cool,” Clark replied quickly. “Let’s just drop it.”

  Jackson opened his mouth to speak again, but acquiesced with Clark’s request and stayed quiet as he turned to stare forward, up into the trees at the crest of the ridge. The light of the sky continued to darken as they crouched there, waiting for Broderick’s return, and several minutes later, his shrouded form emerged at the ridge and worked its way down the gentle slope toward them.

  “There’s a cabin,” Broderick said. “About a mile up the trail. Pickup truck in the driveway, some old beat-up thing, but I’m betting it runs. It even has a nice fiberglass cap on the bed.”

  “Any snowmobiles?” Jackson asked.

  Broderick shook his head. “No. And I don’t like that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because if they’re gone, they may be coming back, and our experience with other human beings over the past few days hasn’t been real positive.”

  Priscilla ran her fingers along the dug ditches in the rough tundra. “Ground’s frozen, but the tire tracks are carved into the dirt, which tells me they’ve been going back and forth through here for a while, when the ground was soft.”

  Jackson smiled when he saw this, thinking back to his days in Aldrich, walking through the woods with his dad, checking animal tracks. His father had been an avid hunter, though Jackson had never fallen in with him during his trips. Suddenly and unexpectedly, Jackson regretted that, feeling like there were so many missed opportunities to bond with his father. Things his father did and believed in that Jackson saw as stupid small-town junk. Now, living in the woods, running from a burning city of urban sprawl, he began to realize just how “big” small town junk could be.

  “The cabin was pretty dark and quiet,” Broderick said. “I didn’t see anyone roaming around, but with the truck there, obviously someone is home.”

  “Or was home,” corrected Clark.

  “True.”

  “Do we take that chance?” Priscilla asked.

  “I don’t see how we can’t,” Broderick replied. “For two days we’ve been walking through these woods. Not only have we made no real progress, but we’ve almost been killed twice. We need to get moving. Stay out of the cities and off the main highways, for sure, but still, we need to move more quickly. Every day I don’t get to Fort Detrick could be another day closer to full blown Armageddon.”

  “Well,” Clark said, “when you put it that way.”

  “I’ll lead the way,” Broderick said, lifting his M4 and breaking away from the group, moving back up the easy slope, walking just next to the dug up pair of tire tracks. The others fell in line behind him, Clark first, his AR-15 in hand with Jackson coming up third. Melinda crawled off his back reluctantly and moved toward Javier who brought up the rear, walking up next to Priscilla, watching the backs of the first three.

  They walked in silence for several minutes until the dark form of the structure emerged ahead of them, short and square, no windows lit, the truck that Broderick mentioned parked at an angle in a mostly mud driveway. Even from this far away, they could see how ramshackle the cabin was, cracked and worn wood slats for walls, faded glass windows, and a wooden door that looked as if it wouldn’t keep out a crew of Boy Scouts.

  “This is the place,” Broderick whispered.

  In the growing dusk, it looked ominous, like a scene from a horror movie and Javier could feel Melinda’s fingers clench more tightly in his grasp.

  None of them wanted to approach, not even Broderick, especially as the sun continued its merciless trek down the horizon, but they knew they had to, and like it or not, they would. They had no choice.

  Chapter 8

  The road bent around the outgrowth of narrow trees and Ralph steered the car along the edge of the pavement, guiding the sedan on its
way. A broad, wood carved sign that bade Welcome to Aldrich was nestled within the trees on the right and Monique followed the sign with her eyes as they passed it.

  “We’re here?” she whispered.

  “Just about,” Ralph replied. Wherever here was. The road twisted one more swift left turn up ahead and he picked up speed, feeling suddenly antsy about finding this mysterious town and what was contained within. It had only been around thirty or so miles out of Hartford, but he’d never heard of it, and his curiosity was getting the better of him.

  He angled around the left-hand turn at nearly forty miles per hour.

  “Whoa!” screamed Francine from the back seat, and Ralph was already moving his foot to the brake, slamming his shoe down on the pedal, grinding rubber from the rear tires, squealing on the frozen pavement. The car tilted, shifting diagonally across the road, screaming to an unsteady stop. The screech of rubber on asphalt faded and they looked from the car toward the road leading into Aldrich, but the roadway was blocked.

  There was a makeshift barrier, a series of thick, concrete construction barricades set up end-to-end completely blocking the passage into town. Less than a quarter of a mile from the welcome sign, the road just ended, a wall of sorts separating the town beyond from what seemed like the only way in.

  “What the…” Francine asked from the back seat. “Is the town closed off?”

  “I don’t know,” replied Ralph, looking at the barricades. It left an uneasy nugget of doubt lodged deep in his gut, a fist sized stone of worry and concern. He didn’t like how this looked at all.

  “I guess this isn’t just affecting the big cities,” Ralph whispered.

  “How do we know?” asked Francine. “This could be something else.”

  They sat in the car for a few moments, watching the barricades.

  “I’m going to go in and see if I can figure out what’s up,” Ralph said. He opened the driver’s side door and stepped out.

  “What are you doing?” Francine asked.

  “Just going to check out the road ahead. Figure out what’s going on.”

  “Don’t be stupid,” Francine said. Monique looked over toward him impassively.

  “What else are we going to do?” asked Ralph. “Just turn around? Go back where we came from?”

  “We can get on 84,” Francine said. “Or the Mass Pike. Find somewhere else.”

  “It’s all right,” Ralph replied. “I’ll only take a minute.” He turned and took a few short steps toward the barricades. His shoes scuffed on pavement in the near silent dusk as he moved toward the ominous looking concrete barricades, as if they were standing watch, daring him to come closer.

  Lights flashed. It was an audible static snap and burst, all around, hidden in the narrow trees, a quick pop of bulbs and spotlights bore down on Ralph, bracketing him in a white crosshatch glow. He stepped backwards, lifting his hand, shadowing his eyes, his head moving back and forth, not sure where to look or what to do next.

  From the car Francine could see him, his vague silhouette pinned by bright white blasts, little more than a darkened shadow against the blinding curtain of pale whiteness.

  “Ralph?” she asked, leaning forward, seeing him take an unsteady step backwards, as if something was coming toward him. She pushed open her rear door and withdrew from the vehicle, keeping the opened door between her and whatever was baking Ralph in white illumination.

  “Ralph?” she asked again, a louder voice this time, almost pleading. He turned toward her and for a brief moment she saw his eyes, wide and frantic, his mouth twisting into a shout. It all seemed to be in slow motion, his hands lifting and waving wildly. She heard a single, shouted, bark of a word.

  “Run!”

  Thunder roared. Light blasted at the tree line in spastic flashing bursts, chasing the rattling tear of what Francine thought was firecrackers, though she knew they weren’t really firecrackers. Ralph twisted awkwardly in the halo of white light, screaming and twisting, contorting, toppling down to the road and Francine stumbled backwards as the opened door thudded with the rapid punches of impact. The window in the door exploded, spraying clumped safety glass and throwing her backwards, her chest slamming with impacts like horses’ hooves.

  Guns, she thought as she slammed backwards onto the pavement, those sound like guns.

  Monique barely made an effort, turning her head toward the windshield and cocking it slightly, inquisitively, as if asking the blinding spotlights a question, something she needed to know, but wasn’t sure how to ask. Outside, the roaring of automatic gunfire continued, both Ralph and Francine gone from view, then the hood puckered and split, metal blistering with bullet impacts, sparks dancing along its straight surface. Holes popped in the windshield and Monique thrashed as the bullets tore through her, chewing apart the entire sedan, reducing it to shredded and chunked sheet metal, smoking and smoldering in the late evening air.

  The gunfire ceased, the car sitting there crooked in the road, two tires flat, steam and smoke intermingling, rising up into the air, tendrils twisting among each other.

  “Tonya… David,” Monique said quietly, her lungs filling. “Mommy’s coming, sweethearts.” Her head slumped to the left and she lay still. Among the bright, steaming illumination of the spotlights, five shadows appeared. Men breached the darkness, dressed in full-body containment suits, M4 automatics clutched in their hands, walking toward the car to inspect their dirty work.

  ***

  Broderick stepped swiftly across the clumps of hard, frozen dirt mixed with snow, moving toward the pickup, then lowered himself, pressing his back against the smooth metal door of the vehicle. Leaning back, he pressed his weapon tight to his chest, glancing right to make sure no movement or sign of life was evident in the cabin. Giving it a moment, he waited for Clark and Jackson to pull up next to him, Clark holding the AR-15 and Jackson with the Scorpion carbine semi-automatic. All three men huddled there for a moment. Priscilla came next, striding toward the rear corner of the truck bed.

  “What, we don’t get any guns?” she asked.

  Jackson smirked and reached behind his back, pulling a revolver from his belt and handing it over to her. It was a Colt Cobra centerfire pistol, .38 caliber, the one he’d swiped from the group of eight men when he made his daring rescue in the trees.

  “Only six rounds in it, be careful.”

  She nodded.

  “You shoot one of those before?” asked Clark.

  “Few times,” she replied. “Hank used to take me to the range sometimes.”

  Clark nodded. “Just don’t shoot us or yourself and I’ll be happy.”

  Broderick turned back to them. “Are we done chatting? Let’s be ready to move.”

  Javier and Melinda crept up the driveway, ducking down behind the truck, keeping the full length of the vehicle between them and the cabin. The growing dusk was near silent, the skies above shifting to dull graphite. Broderick made one final check behind him, nodded, and strode forward in a low crouch, his legs pumping evenly, feet moving almost silently over the dirt. Clark came up on his left, Jackson on his right and Priscilla pinned herself between them, holding her revolver down at an angle, clutched in two hands. They crossed the remaining driveway distance in a short time, moving toward the cabin, Broderick pressing his spine to the worn wooden slats on the left side of the front door. Clark and Jackson fell in on the other side, while Priscilla drifted toward the front corner.

  This close, the cabin looked to be in even worse shape than they’d thought. Actual jagged holes were punched in the aged wood, the planks rotting away and streaked with old age and weather. One of the front windows had a long, jagged crack across the entirety of the glass panel. Jackson tried to glance in the window, but the inside of the cabin was dark and he couldn’t see.

  Broderick remained where he was, considering his options, unsure of what the next step should be. He didn’t want to lead them into some kind of ambush, and part of him was also concerned they would stumble upon
a cabin full of corpses. Neither outcome was especially appetizing.

  “Hear anything?” Clark asked in a low whisper. Broderick shook his head no. In fact, the cabin was so silent that it and of itself made him very nervous.

  He reached out slowly and tested the door handle, a simple iron shape bolted into the wooden entry, and as he pulled gently, the front door started to open, completely unencumbered by locks or latches. Easing the door fully open, he pressed himself inside, Clark following close behind him with Jackson and Priscilla closing in from behind.

  Broderick halted at the threshold. The cabin was filthy, the floor little more than tightly packed dirt, the walls discolored with age and soil. Small, candlelight lanterns were scattered about the wall, though none of them were lit, and a few isolated photographs were hung in frames as well. A disheveled old table was pressed to one wall, with a pair of metal folding chairs left askew, crooked and disorderly to match the overall image of the cabin at large. It was a mess, as one might expect, but what really stopped him in his tracks was the smell. It hit him the moment he entered, and it was a smell he unfortunately knew very well. Rank and pungent, the rotting stink of dead and dying flesh was a unique sensation you didn’t often forget.

  “Hold up,” he whispered. “Make sure Mel doesn’t come in here.” The cabin’s lighting was poor, the doors, floors, and furnishings only barely visible in the low light, but Broderick knew what he would find here. Letting the canvas bag he was holding slide off his shoulder, he bent down to fish out the metal-cased flashlight, his fingers wrapping around the unique diamond pattern on the metal. Easing it from the bag he turned and thumbed the rubber button, activating a narrow, white beam which bathed the main room in a pale illumination, showing the furniture and wall decorations more clearly. The corners of the main entry were clear, the rotted wood of the floors showing through, then as he slowly moved the light in a gentle arc over the floor, he saw it. The first one, anyway.