“Let’s get moving,” I whispered. “Remember to keep your voice to a whisper, too. Sound travels farther on the water.”
“Here,” said Gunny, handing me my hammer. “I couldn’t sleep, so I fixed it up for you.”
I took the hammer and examined it. He’d drilled a few holes into the wooden handle and threaded several pieces of 550 cord through the holes. Then he braided the handle and made a loop to go around my wrist. It was perfect.
“Thanks, Guns,” I said, smiling.
Gunny just nodded by way of reply and handed me an oar. We set to rowing back towards the bridge, going slow to minimize the noise. Just as we were about to go around the point that would take us away from Caitríona for the last time, the full moon came out from behind the clouds. I saw her there, illuminated on the water. Yeah, I was going to miss her. Gunny squeezed my shoulder once and nodded.
“We did good work on that boat,” he whispered.
I just nodded and went back to the oars. As we passed Cape Fair in the darkness, I could hear the distant moans of the undead that were prowling the darkened streets of that once picturesque little town. There were no lights on. All the power was out. If there was anyone alive left in there, they were trapped. I whispered a silent prayer, just in case.
Ahead in the darkness, I could see the looming shape of the bridge. Between the moon’s reflection from the water and the glint of metal from the guard rails, the bridge had an almost otherworldly look to it. The light mist from the water and the moonlight bathed it in a faint halo of color. It was strangely beautiful.
“Bifrost,” I whispered. “The Rainbow Bridge.”
“Yeah, but that ain’t Asgard on the other side,” added Gunny. “It’s more like the realm of Hel.”
“End of Days, Armageddon, Ragnarok,” I said. “Whatever you want to call it, this is certainly the Twilight of the Gods.”
“I’ve never been one for religion of any stripe,” said Gunny. “But if there’s a Hell, I imagine it can’t be much worse than this.”
Gunny and I had discussed religion, politics, life, marriage, and even philosophy during our time working on the boat together. He knew my views and didn’t bat an eye when I told him. Although, I think every Marine yearns for something like Valhalla, if the truth were to be told. I can't say that I blame him, either.
We continued on until we were directly beneath the bridge. It was well past midnight when we decided to take a rest. It had taken us hours to go what would have taken fifteen minutes by power boat. The important thing was that we’d made it without alerting every zombie in the area. We could breathe easy knowing that we wouldn’t have to fight our way onto the shore like it was an invasion.
We rowed over to one of the cement support pylons and stopped. There was still a full moon out above us, so we could see for quite a distance. The shore beneath the bridge was clear, but the woods beyond were dark and foreboding. I didn’t like the look of the darkened forest. Visibility would be low in there, even with the moon. We could walk right up onto a dozen zombies and not see them until it was too late.
“Think we should sit here until morning?” I asked, looking at the shoreline.
“Might not be a bad idea,” he replied. “If we had some NVG’s[2], it might be a different story.”
I tied off the raft to the pylon, and settled back into a comfortable position. Gunny broke out two cans of pork and beans and handed me one. Then we both proceeded to open them with the old soldier’s friend, our trusty P38 can-openers. I’ve carried one on my key ring since the late 80’s and Gunny claimed he’d had the same one since the Vietnamese Tet Offensive in 1968.
I fished a couple plastic spoons out of my pack and handed one to Gunny. He stuck his in the beans and then started opening another can. I looked at him somewhat surprised. Then, realization dawned on me exactly what he was doing. I had to say something before he doomed us both to a fate worse than death.
“Tell me you’re not giving pork and beans to the dog?” I asked, incredulously.
“Why not?”
“Because,” I replied, “his farts will kill you, under normal circumstances. That dog has an evil ass.”
“Consider it chemical warfare, then,” he replied, grinning. “Maybe it will knock the zombies down for the count.”
“It’ll certainly mask our scent,” I said, shaking my head. “You have no idea what kind of forces you’re about to unleash. You're about to unleash Hel on an unsuspecting world.”
"A little late for that, isn't it?" he asked, grinning.
"Oh yeah," I replied, shrugging.
We chuckled softly and started eating. Odin was busily slurping beans from a metal mess kit pan. I finished my can and sat it on the concrete ledge of the pylon. Then I licked my spoon clean and stuck it in my shirt pocket. Running my hand over my head, I felt the stubble of several days’ growth of hair. I usually kept my head clean shaven, but that might not be a possibility anymore. The stubble on my chin felt just as out of place.
Reluctantly, I settled back against the side of the raft and tried my best to get comfortable. I closed my eyes and thought of my family. They had to think I was dead. Hel, I don’t see how I survived the explosion. The thought almost made me cry. My wife and sons were less than fifty miles away from me, and had no way of knowing that I was alive and coming for them. I prayed that they were safe and sound, inside the jail. I knew Southard and Wilder would take good care of them.
12 April
I must have drifted off, because the next thing I knew I awoke to a sound in the distance. The sun was just barely up in the east, and made the lake look like liquid gold. At first it was just a noise that I barely registered, but it grew in intensity as it got closer. Gunny was already awake and sitting up. He’d heard it too. He looked at me and whispered at the same time that my brain registered what that sound was.
“Chopper!”
I frantically dug the binoculars out of my pack and started sweeping the horizon in that direction. I found it as it appeared over the trees, just a few klicks north-east of us. It was low in the sky and not in any particular hurry. I recognized it as a Chinook twin rotor chopper. The kind used for heavy cargo or large troop movement. Its course would take it southeast of us and across the lake.
“Should we try and signal it?” asked Gunny.
“I don’t know, Guns,” I replied. “I saw first-hand what the Army’s doing to survivors to prevent the spread of this virus. They might just blow our asses away.”
“Good point,” he said. “How do we know if they’re on our side?”
“I’m guessing that if they’re still working for whatever is left of the government, then they ain’t on our side.”
I explained about the Colonel and the bodies from the Evacuation Center. I could see that it pissed Gunny off, to hear that they had killed innocent civilians in a futile attempt to contain the unstoppable.
“What kind of piece of shit orders the execution of women and children that we took an oath to defend?”
“I don’t know, Gunny,” I whispered. “I don’t know.”
The Chinook was disappearing over the horizon, continuing on without slowing down. A few moments later, we couldn’t even hear the rotors anymore.
“I wonder where they’re going?” I mused.
“Isn’t there an Air Force Base in North-eastern Arkansas?” asked Gunny.
“There used to be," I replied. "Blytheville, I think. Didn’t they close it, years ago?”
“Maybe,” he said. “Who the fuck knows, anymore? I bet they have a staging area or a base off that way.”
"There's supposed to be a FEMA Camp down that way," I said. "I read about them before the zombies hit us. Some kind of detention center or something."
"They were building them before this happened?" asked Gunny, surprised.
"Yeah," I answered. "I've been hearing about them for years."
"Then I doubt that they were designed with our best interests in mind," said
Gunny, frowning.
“Then I’m glad we’re going the other direction,” I said, matching the frown.
Picking up the binoculars again, I began scanning the shoreline for movement. I was hoping that the noise of the chopper hadn’t drawn any zombies into our area. Once I was satisfied that the area was still clear, I put them back in my pack and untied the mooring line. Gunny didn’t wait for an invitation and started paddling towards the shore. I joined him, as soon as I closed my pack.
Minutes later, we climbed out onto the rocks and pulled the raft ashore beneath the bridge. Odin hopped out of the raft and started sniffing around. His ears weren’t up and he didn’t seem bothered. When he stopped and started to relieve himself, I had to chuckle. The dog had his priorities in order. If there was anything dangerous nearby, he'd be acting much differently.
Once we secured the raft, I shrugged into my pack and hefted the weight of the gear. I snapped a d-ring through the handles of my duffle-bag of food and ammo and had Gunny secure it to one of the straps on my rucksack. It meant more weight on my legs, but it also kept my hands free to shoot. Besides, I was planning on commandeering the first vehicle that would start to get us to the Humvee.
Once Gunny was ready, I headed up the hill towards the road. The hill wasn’t steep but it was rocky, making the footing treacherous. Especially with nearly a hundred pounds of gear on my back. By the time we reached the highway, I was sweating profusely. Odin bounded up the hill like he was out for a morning walk, without a care in the world. I took that to be a good sign. If there had been zombies around, he would have smelled them.
Gunny came up onto the road next to me, looking as fresh as a daisy. He didn’t even look winded. Giving him a dirty look, I started looking around. I didn’t see any movement anywhere near us, but there weren’t any vehicles close by, either. The closest one was in the middle of the bridge. We’d passed it on the way in a few days ago.
I didn’t know if it would start or not, but I didn’t want to risk exposure on that bridge. There was no place to hide and no cover. The movement would be noticed, for sure. No, it was better to continue on down the road. We had passed lots of abandoned cars on the road. I was just hoping that at least one of them had gas in it and would start.
Instead of walking in the road, I moved off to the left and walked in the ditch. Gunny followed my lead and kept pace with me. Odin walked back and forth from the edge of the road to the tree line, following along with us. His nose was constantly working and he seemed to be alert and ready. At least, I hoped he was. He was our early warning system. Our lives could easily depend on his nose and ears.
We walked in silence for the better part of an hour. The sun was creeping higher in the sky and we hadn’t seen a single zombie. I was just starting to think we might make it after all, when Odin stopped in his tracks and the hair stood up on his back. He gave one short growl and went silent. Gunny and I froze in place and immediately crouched down.
Just ahead of us the road turned to the left, and through the trees I could make out the shapes of cars. I motioned for Gunny to follow me and headed into the trees, careful to make as little noise as possible. Odin led the way, making hardly any sound at all. Once inside the tree line, we knelt down to conceal our presence from whom or whatever was up ahead.
I was down on one knee, just in case I had to get to my feet quickly. Slowly, I eased the safety off on the Henry, and then released the catch on the Army Colt. I already had a round chambered in the Henry, so I was ready to go. Gunny was checking his weapons, as well. Then he gave me a grave nod.
We didn’t have to wait long. Through the trees, we could see six zombies moving down the road. It was an odd assortment. They all moved slowly, like Shamblers, but that could be a trick. I’ve noticed that Sprinters tend to stay in groups with others until time to attack. Then their terrifying speed becomes apparent. The Shriekers did the same thing. Looks definitely could be deceiving.
Two of the zombies were dressed like deer hunters. Both wore woodland camouflage and boots. One still had a pistol strapped to his hip. Two were women, dressed fairly normally. One had been a tall red-head and the other a blonde of average height. The other two were men, dressed semi-professionally. Both wore khaki’s and button-up shirts. All of them had the usual horrific wounds to limbs, faces and torsos.
It appeared that they would just keep shuffling down the road without noticing us when something unexpected happened. One of the redneck-zombies stopped and started cocking its head from side to side. I shot a quick glance at Gunny, surprise on my face. He just shook his head in the negative. He hadn’t made any noise, either.
Then the redneck-zombie started moving towards the edge of the road. It seemed like it was sniffing the air. This was something completely new. I’d never seen a zombie track by scent, alone. Well, not unless the quarry was already bleeding, and neither of us was. I don’t know if it smelled us or the dog, but it was definitely following the scent of something.
When it reached the edge of the road, the other zombies noticed that it was no longer shuffling along with them and turned to follow it. This situation was turning bad, in a hurry. Once the redneck-zombie reached the ditch, it seemed to lock onto our scent and turned to look directly at us. Then it let out a blood-curdling growl and the others immediately keyed onto it and started coming towards us, only much faster.
It was officially crunch time. We either had to run like hell or risk firing our weapons. There was no way we were going to take six zombies with hand weapons while carrying this much gear. I didn’t wait to explain it to Gunny. I just raised the Henry and shot the redneck-zombie right in the forehead. It went down in a heap, spraying gore into the air behind it.
Gunny didn’t wait for an invitation, and started engaging targets of his own. He’d shot both of the business-zombies before I’d finished working the lever on the Henry. My second shot drilled the second redneck through the mouth, blasting teeth, brains and black blood all over the red-head. Gunny shot her next and she fell twitching to the ground. His shot had only clipped the spine, not the brain.
I worked the lever on the big Henry and shot the last zombie at less than ten feet away. Her momentum carried her forward a few more feet and she fell right in front of me. Gunny snapped off one more shot and ended red’s flopping. In the silence that followed, I could hear my heart thundering in my chest.
“We’ve got to get the fuck out of here,” hissed Gunny.
I paused long enough to snag the pistol from the belt of the redneck-zombie and yanked a hunting knife off of the other one. They both went into my cargo pocket. I'd check them over, later. Right now, we had bigger problems to deal with.
“Let’s move,” I replied, heading off at a trot, towards the cars we’d seen earlier.
Gunny came along right behind me and Odin trotted on ahead. Once we cleared the trees, I could see the cars just ahead in the road. One was a small economy car with a broken out windshield and grill. There was blood on the hood of the car. The second vehicle was an extended cab Ford F-250. It looked to be intact.
“Looks like the little car hit someone or something and the pickup stopped to help,” said Gunny.
“Sounds right to me,” I agreed. “Let’s just hope that they left the keys in it.”
“If they didn’t, I’m pretty sure I know where to start looking,” said Gunny.
I headed over to the truck and checked the door. It was unlocked and I peeked inside before I opened it. There were a couple backpacks in the back seat, but nobody was inside. Then I pulled open the door and heard the chime, indicating the keys were in the ignition. I couldn’t help but smile. Now if it would only start.
Quickly, I yanked off my pack and tossed it into the back seat. Gunny followed suit on the passenger side. I held open the door for Odin. He bounded inside and crawled into the back seat. Gunny climbed in and put his rifle between his knees. My Henry went into the seat beside me.
“Come on baby,” I said, reaching f
or the ignition.
Thankfully, it had only been a few days since the end of the world. If the truck had been sitting for weeks or months, there wouldn’t have been any chance at all that it would have started. It turned over and fired right up. The big engine rumbled to life and idled smoothly. I backed into the grass at the side of the road and turned around. Then I headed off down the highway back towards Springfield, grinning from ear to ear. It was good to not be on foot, anymore.
My smile faded quickly when I saw that the gas gauge read almost empty. We were driving, but not for long. We were going to have to find some gas and soon, or we’d be right back out there walking.
“What the hell was that all about, back there?” asked Gunny.
“That was something new,” I replied. “I’ve never seen a zombie do that. I guess there are six types of zombie to worry about, now.”
“What are you going to call this one?”
“Trackers,” I replied. “I guess I’ll call them Trackers.”
Right about then, the low fuel indicator light dinged on. It was a shrill reminder of our sad lack of fuel.
“How far do you think we’ll make it on the gas we’ve got?” asked Gunny.
“I don’t know,” I replied. “Probably not all that far.”
“Aw, shit,” he muttered. “I ain’t exactly looking forward to going back out there on foot. Not with them gawd-damned Trackers out there.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “We’ve got to find some fuel.”
We hadn’t driven more than another mile when the engine started to cut out. The owners of the truck must have been driving for some distance on the empty line, since most of the time you can go quite a ways after the low fuel indicator comes on. Up ahead, I saw the tool and die place where we’d spent the night on the way out.
“There’s a place right up here where we can pull the truck inside and secure the doors,” I said. “We used it before. Once we’re safe in there, I can scrounge for fuel.”
“Sounds fine to me,” said Gunny. “We’d better do it quick before we run out of gas and die in the middle of the road.”
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