by D. J. Molles
Harper appeared, wide-eyed. “Uh… what the hell was that?”
“Come on.” Lee bent down and hooked his arms through one of the man’s elbows. “We need to move.”
Harper’s voice bore a little more edge to it. “What the fuck is going on?”
Lee straightened his legs, dragging the man’s torso off the ground. “Could I get some fucking help here? I’ll explain things later. This is not the time or the place.”
Harper’s jaw protruded angrily, but he snatched up the man’s other elbow and they began hauling him toward the nearest LMTV. “Why not, right?” His voice was rank with sarcasm. “We trust you on everything else, so what’s one more time? You know, one of these days you’re gonna have to actually tell us what the fuck you’re doing!”
The man dragging between them mumbled something, forming words with the noises coming out of his mouth. Lee shook him hard. “Don’t talk.” His eyes came up to Harper as they shuffled around the corner of the LMTV, regarding the older man from under his eyebrows. “We’ve lost two men to ambushes. You wanna stand around with your ass in the wind, be my guest. But we need to get mobile ASAP.”
They hauled the man into the back of the LMTV. Lee grabbed the handle on the lifted tailgate and hauled himself up. He looked over the side and saw LaRouche standing around, looking a little confused. “LaRouche, you’re driving. I’m gonna watch our man back here.”
LaRouche nodded and jogged back to their Humvee.
At the tailgate, Harper clenched his jaw. “You want help back there?”
Lee shook his head and looked down at the blindfolded man. “No. I got it.”
Harper disappeared with a huff.
Lee knelt down over his prisoner. The man’s mouth worked, probably feeling out the damage to his jaw. As the sound of engines shifting reached him and the LMTV lurched forward, Lee searched himself to see how the presence of this man affected him. Was he off balance? Was he shocked? Perhaps confused?
No.
He was cold inside. Like the surface of his mind was a frozen lake, and he knew there were things moving beneath that hard numbness. Powerful emotions that could hurt him, cloud his judgment, and drive him crazy. Fatalistic thoughts. Feelings of hopelessness. But he couldn’t see or hear or feel them. He only had the knowledge that they were there.
Now there was nothing but the cold, flat hardness.
He took a deep breath and it felt rotten in his chest.
He would have preferred anger.
Lee sat back on his heels as the truck rumbled along. Over the sides, the tops of trees clawed at the darkening sky. He lifted his head and felt the wind on his face and neck, colder where his shemagh had kept his skin warm.
The man at his feet shifted and touched Lee’s boot.
He directed his face upward, searching like a blind man. “That you, Lee?”
Lee didn’t respond for a long time, just sat there, staring down at the captive and considering what to do next. Finally, he spoke. “What are you doing here, Brian?”
Brian triangulated on Lee’s voice. “Listen to me. I know you’re confused, but you have to trust me. I’m here for you.”
“What about my men? What about them?”
“I can’t help what happened—”
“Just shut the fuck up.” Lee shook his head. “Who’s taking care of South Carolina?”
“You’ve been out of the loop, my friend. What the hell happened to you, anyway?”
“How about you answer my questions first.”
“There is no South Carolina, Lee. Not anymore.”
Lee’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
Brian shook his head. “No. Not here. You get me someplace safe and you keep me under lock and key and you have someone you really trust guard me. I’ll talk to you in private. But not here.”
Lee’s jaw jutted out. “Suit yourself.”
Five minutes later, they pulled up to the Camp Ryder gate. Lee peered over the top of the cab as the guard opened the entrance and the convoy rolled in, barely fitting all the vehicles inside. As the diesel engines trundled in, people began to notice and their eyes went wide at the line of military vehicles. Many of the people began to clap, smiling up at Lee as the LMTV came to a halt. Perhaps the presence of the military vehicles gave them an increased sense of security.
But Lee’s mind was in another place, and he gave them a curt nod and hopped down off the tailgate. Harper was immediately there with him, and curious onlookers who wanted to see the vehicles pressed in on them. As they edged around the back of the truck, they saw the huddled form in the back, bound and blindfolded, and a slight hush fell over their excited talking.
“Help me get him out of here,” Lee mumbled to Harper.
“Where we gonna put him?” Harper asked.
As he said it, Bus edged through the crowd, followed closely by a group of three that Lee recognized as some of the volunteers. Lee nodded to Bus and they pulled Brian over.
Bus’s eyes widened a bit. “Who’s this?”
Lee looked between Bus and Harper. “Please, just give me a minute so I only have to explain things once to the both of you.”
Bus nodded. “Okay.”
Lee pushed Brian into the hands of the three volunteers. “Find a shipping container for him and lock it up tight.”
“Wait!” Brian protested, twisting his still-blindfolded face around. “Don’t pass me off to these people, Lee! You have no idea what you’re doing!”
“Get him out of here.”
Two of the volunteers, both younger men, took hold of Brian and dragged him off.
Lee reached out and put a hand on the shoulders of Bus and Harper, simultaneously pulling them slightly closer as though to confide a secret to them and pushing them toward the Camp Ryder building as he started to walk. “Let’s talk.”
* * *
The three men stood in a tight circle inside the office. Bus leaned back against the desk and folded his arms across his chest. Harper stood in a similar repose but with one hand worrying ceaselessly at where his beard extended down onto his neck. Lee stood as the third point in the triangle, his rifle leaning against the chair behind him and his unbuckled tactical vest providing a support for his hands.
He told them what had happened over the course of the past few days and left nothing out. From the sniper who’d killed Jake, to the ambush as they neared the bunker, to the conversation he’d had with the dying man as he bled out on the forest floor, Lee recounted everything in detail, his voice rote and emotionless. He ended with his discovery of Brian Tomlin and his suspicions about the man.
Lee pursed his lips. “The two men sent to kill me knew which building we were going to use in Sanford, and they set a trap for us there. And then they clearly knew what route we were going to take to get to the bunker—which no one should know.” He took a long, deep breath. “I personally believe that whoever is controlling them is someone with intimate knowledge of the operation. And that’s where Brian Tomlin comes in.”
Harper looked confused. “The guy we captured?”
Lee nodded.
“Why would he…” Harper trailed off, and Lee could see the dots connecting in his head and revealing an unpleasant picture. The older man’s eyes fell down to the floor and his face tensed. “Sonofabitch. That’s how you know him.”
Bus stuck his head out and opened his arms. “Am I missing something here?”
“Brian Tomlin,” Lee said quietly, “is Captain Brian Tomlin. The Coordinator for South Carolina.”
Bus stood frozen in place for a moment, his eyelids blinking rapidly as though he were struggling to process the information he was receiving. Gradually, his arms retreated back to his sides and his blinking slowed again.
“Well, shit,” he muttered.
Lee shifted, turning around and slowly stripping his vest from his shoulders and draping it over the back of the chair where his rifle leaned. Then he turned back to the other two men, his eyes on Harper.
“That’s why I treated him like I did.”
“Yeah.” Harper touched his forehead. “I see.”
“He claims to be on my side, but right now, he’s suspect number one.” Lee sat down. “And that’s my bit of news.”
“Jesus.” Bus looked briefly overwhelmed. “I’m afraid to ask, Harper… but do you have something for me as well?”
Harper suddenly looked troubled as he was forced to switch gears from one worry to the next. “Uh… yes. It’s about Professor White and Lillington.” He paused. “It sounds like a group of his students went missing—well, actually, they were kidnapped.”
“Kidnapped?” Bus looked startled.
“Yeah,” Harper continued. “Five of them were out scavenging along the edges of the town and apparently a group of guys in an old panel van pulled up and ordered them all on the ground. Kidnapped four of them, but one of them fought and got away. They beat the fuck out of him, though.”
Bus’s expression turned from surprise to suspicion. “Why didn’t they call this in to us?”
Harper shook his head. “White said some bullshit about not wanting to make it public. He was afraid it would start a rash of vigilantism.”
Bus rolled his eyes. “That guy is unbelievable.”
“Yeah, well… all of that to say, White’s requesting guns now.”
It was Lee’s turn to look surprised. “Guns?”
“Yeah.” Harper shoved his hands in his jacket pocket. “I thought it was weird, but then again, I guess he’s just worried about safety. And apparently, he doesn’t want you or any of our people to get involved with trying to track down the bad guys and get the kids back. He says he’ll handle it on his own, if we give him the tools.”
Lee knew this would have been much more ironic in the old world, but he supposed now it was just a sad circumstance. If White and his students hadn’t been idiots and rejected the firearms he’d initially tried to give them to protect themselves, they would not be in this situation, and those four others would be safe inside the walls with an unpleasant war story to tell around the fire.
Lee leaned his elbows onto his knees. “Alright. I guess we can give him some guns.”
Harper crossed his arms. “I guess that brings us to the topic of the mission.”
“Yes,” Bus said. “When are you planning on leaving?”
“Tomorrow if possible. The day after at the latest.” Lee looked at Harper as he said this. “I plan to meet with my entire team—the volunteers as well—and make sure everyone has everything in order before we go. If we can leave before noon tomorrow, we’ll do it. If not, we’ll wait until the following morning. But we need to get a move on. Who knows how close those things are to crossing into North Carolina, or if they’re already here.”
Bus nodded. “Just let me know, Captain. If you need the extra day to relax…”
Lee grimaced. “That would be great, but I don’t think we have the time to relax. Every day we need to wait drives me nuts. I keep wondering how many of them are migrating south into the state, crossing that river, every day.”
“It might not be any,” Bus pointed out. “Jacob said he didn’t expect them to cross into the state until late this month.”
“Even if that’s the earliest they’ll make their way down here, we’re still behind the eight ball.” Lee looked up at the map on the wall. “It’s going to take time to blow those bridges and set up in Eden. And that’s all assuming that Jacob’s estimation is correct. They could be knocking on our doorstep next week, or they might all die before they even reach the river. We just don’t know.”
“I agree.” Harper looked stern. “We can’t play the odds on this one. We need to assume the worst.”
Lee stood, favoring his ankle slightly. “I need you to gather everyone up after dinner. We’ll meet here.” He looked around the room. “It’ll be tight, but it’s better than standing outside in the cold.”
“All right. Where are you going to be?”
Lee took up his rifle. “I’m going to have a talk with Captain Tomlin.”
CHAPTER 24
Old Friends…
It had been a decent day of scavenging for Greg and Arnie. They’d left in the morning when the sun was positively over the horizon and they knew the packs would be bedded down. Now as the afternoon waned into evening, they hit the road, aiming to be back at Camp Ryder before dusk.
For the last week, they had been working the Cedar Cove subdivision off of Highway 210. It was a few streets of approximately eighty middle-income houses sitting on half-acre plots of land. It didn’t look like anything special, but the houses were still curiously full. The only things obviously missing were some clothes, cash, and a few family photos, absent from conspicuously blank spots on the walls.
Several of the houses at the front of the neighborhood had suffered from looters, back in the days when people were still grabbing big-screen TVs and video game consoles. One of them was fire-gutted, with a collapsed roof. But the houses nestled back into the neighborhood’s cul-de-sacs were surprisingly untouched.
Today they’d been able to clear ten of those houses, Arnie pulling guard in the front while Greg worked each house over meticulously, dragging along an old military-surplus duffel that grew heavier with each house until it weighed so much that Greg could hardly lift it into the hatchback of Arnie’s Geo.
When he’d first started scavenging, he would take nearly everything from a house. But experience came with a little more discretion, and now he chose to take only the items that were in high demand and simply make mental notes of where everything else was, in case someone specifically requested those items later.
The Big Three, as he called them, were food, water, and clothing.
A close fourth was what he considered “drugstore items,” which included everything from medicines to toiletries. As a rule, to prevent him from taking up real estate in his duffel with items that were low on the totem pole, he only took with him whatever drugstore items he could fit in the pockets of his coat. Usually a couple bars of soap and some medications.
The medications were a growing priority for Greg, but not the kind that Jenny and Doc Hamilton could use. More and more people were trading up pretty valuable items to get their hands on antidepressants, pain medications, and any other mood-altering drug to make their lives in this savage landscape feel less horrible.
Greg allocated his deepest coat pocket to those little orange bottles.
So Greg had a methodology for scavenging these houses.
First, you had to sweep it for threats—make sure nothing was hiding in the dark closets or under beds, ready to take a chunk out of you when you had your back turned. Then it was straight to the kitchen and pantry. Take everything that hasn’t been expired for more than a year. Off to the closets and dressers. Take all the socks, and all the underwear. Hooded sweatshirts and micro fleece pullovers, if they were size large or above. Any pants of sufficiently sturdy construction—never touch the designer brands. Check if there are any solidly made boots. Finish up with a trip to the bathroom for medications, first-aid supplies, and bars of soap. Before leaving, check under the bed, between the mattresses, in the nightstand, and in the closets for guns or ammunition. If there’s a garage, take note of what’s inside so you can maybe come back through for it later. If there are cars, siphon the tanks.
So with the back of the Geo laden with a good haul of food, clothing, and even a few gallons of gasoline, they piled in with maybe an hour and a half to go before dusk and one more errand to run before returning to Camp Ryder.
Arnie drove while Greg stood up in the backseat with his Remington 870.
“I don’t get why Jerry gives a shit about these fuckers,” Arnie griped.
Greg could just barely hear him over the sound of the wind rushing by his ears, but he shrugged and hollered back, “You know how he is. Fostering goodwill and shit like that.”
“Whatever.”
That concluded the conversation.
Greg kept an eye on the time and the distance from the sun to the western horizon.
They arrived at Campbell University with about forty-five minutes to spare.
Greg hopped down out of the Geo and opened up the duffel, retrieving from it several food items, along with a couple of thick blankets. He used the blankets to wrap up the canned goods and a sleeve of sandwich cookies—a little care package for the kids in the dormitory.
Greg resented having to give away what he’d scavenged, especially to the brats from Fuquay-Varina, but he had already told Jerry he would do it. Besides, he supposed the kids had earned a little food and some warm blankets, going through all of this bullshit at Jerry’s request. Who knew how long they would have to stay holed up in the dormitory?
They had their own motivations, of course.
Namely, complete hatred of Captain Harden.
He supposed that got them through some of the cold nights.
“You want me to come with you?” Arnie asked, still sitting in the driver’s seat.
Greg shook his head and hauled the satchel of goods up over his shoulder. “Nah. Sit here and guard our shit.”
One arm holding the satchel, the other his shotgun, Greg made for the four-story dorms to his right. The four kids from White’s group who had pretended to be kidnapped would be up on the top floor, where the infected wouldn’t wander and other scavengers or raiders generally wouldn’t venture—there just wasn’t a lot of usable loot in a college dorm.
The sidewalk cut through a gently sloping lawn, a few stately oak trees framing it like a gateway. The once-manicured lawn was now an uneven and patchy mess of overgrown clumps of brown fescue and dead weeds as tall as sapling trees. Through the oak trees and up to the red brick building, the bushes surrounding the base of it were wildly untrimmed, their carefully shaped branches just barely visible beyond a screen of new-growth offshoots, slightly lighter in color.
Greg rounded one of these bushes and then stopped.