Red Death (Book 2): Survivors

by Robinson, D. L.

  “All I can think about are Clyde’s last minutes, how scared he must have been.” Tara sobbed harder.

  “No, you said he smiled when he saw you, Tara. His last moments were you holding him, knowing you were there to save him.”

  Tara nodded, trying to fix Clyde’s last smile in her mind. She felt better having released the pent-up tears.

  Mary wiped her own eyes. “I’m glad we got that over with, it won’t do to be blubbering in front of Jake,” she told Tara brusquely.

  Tara nodded. “I know. I’ve already had one episode this morning.” She called for Lee, asking him to heat another pan of water for coffee on the potbellied stove in the basement and he limped down to see to it.

  “How’s Julie? What happened with her?”

  Mary shook her head. “Not sure, but she’s still under the weather. She thought maybe too much cheese. I don’t know how Bethany got that she was bleeding out of that, except she got dizzy and fell against the dresser, cut her hand a little bit. She says she didn’t pass out, but I don’t know.”

  The women sat in the kitchen discussing Clyde’s services and how best to go about holding a funeral.

  “Melanie should be here very soon. If she could contact Clyde’s grandson by sometime tomorrow, I think we can plan to bury him in a couple days. We’ll use my family plot in the cemetery downtown, unless his grandson has other ideas. Our section has several open spots.” Clyde was the same as family, and Tara would be honored to place him near where their little boy rested for eternity. “I’ve got to get his uniform from the house, don’t let me forget.”

  Mary promised she wouldn’t, and the two talked on into the morning, reminiscing about Clyde and trying to imagine who could have done these terrible things. Mary brought up Jake and what they should try to find out from him. Tara thought anything they discovered at all might help.

  “We planned to do surveillance tonight, three of us, me, Craig and Luke’s mom, Jenny. Luke volunteered originally, but he’d like to stay with Julie while she’s under the weather, so his mom is taking his slot,” Mary said. “My post is going to be at the bottom of the path, down near the river. Good cover there, no one can see me. Craig is taking the main road leading to the forest, with Jenny along the railroad tracks on the other side of the trees, where we found the honey. All three locations should be well hidden, but allow us to see anyone approaching from all directions.”

  “I’m coming with you, Mary. No way can I sit here and stew in my own juices. Not happening.”

  “Are you sure you feel up to it?”

  “Absolutely. I can’t stand staying here, I’ll only think about Clyde. I’d rather do something, anything.” Mary nodded, understanding. Tara knew she was a lot like her, an action person. She’d rather die trying than do nothing.

  ~

  Marine base, Cleveland, Ohio

  General Randall sat at his desk sorting through the stack of papers needing immediate attention. The new parameters of the military had shifted, expanding in most areas, contracting in some. It was a logistical nightmare with so few troops still left alive.

  Only a handful of top brass remained in the entire Marine Corps. At the Cleveland base, he was only one of three people in the building. Men were thin on the ground.

  The door to his inner office opened, and the general looked up. He reached for his side arm automatically, but stopped with his hand on it as he stared into the M9 Beretta pointed directly at his forehead.

  “General, I doubt you expected to see me here.”

  General Randall leaned back in his chair. “No, Meyers, I didn’t. In fact, I expected you to be in front of a firing squad by now for crimes against humanity.”

  Meyers moved closer to the desk, flipping a small framed picture sitting there around to face him. It was General Randall as a young man, his grandfather in uniform with one arm around his shoulder. Meyers frowned. That’s the old bastard who brought this all down on our heads, Clyde Randall.

  “Any last words?”

  The general turned the picture of his grandfather toward him and leaned back in his chair. “Go to hell.”

  The bullet at close range blew the top of the general’s skull off, splattering the wall behind him. Meyers turned around and started out the door, distaste written all over his face. He would have rather not done this. The colonel insisted it was necessary. Meyers knew it satisfied some perverse sense of justice in the crazy bastard, his version of revenge.

  It was him or me, Meyers told himself. There was no going against the colonel.

  ~

  Tara carried two cast iron skillets up the stairs, one full of chicken, ghetto-biscuits and gravy, the other with mushrooms, onions and daylily tubers. The aroma wafted back to her as she climbed and her stomach growled. What a feast this is. For just an instant, she thought about fixing Clyde’s plate next, as she’d done almost every night since she’d met him, and then reality crashed back down, knocking the air from her lungs. She literally had to stop on the steps, take a deep breath and shake the sadness out of her head. With a sigh, she climbed the rest of the way up.

  Mary was in the kitchen shaving Dahlia roots and tossing them in olive oil and vinegar. She also had early radishes from her garden along with baby lettuce. It looked delicious.

  “Make up some plates for Julie, Luke, and Ben,” Tara told her, and Mary said she would.

  Tara had whisked together more of her ghetto peanut butter fudge with the spoils from the house they’d disinfected. She added the walnuts she traded for at the food swap. It really was a feast.

  Just then, pounding on the front door announced Jake’s arrival, and Tara carried the skillets to the table already set with her finest dinnerware. Mary plated the salads as Lee opened the front door and invited their guest inside.

  “Hi, Jake,” Tara called, setting the steaming skillets on hot pads so they could serve themselves family style. Jake beamed, one hand outstretched to shake Lee’s, and the other handing a bottle of Old Town Winery’s finest to Tara.

  “Oh, thank you! I’ll get some glasses.”

  Lee introduced himself to Jake since they’d never met, and the men made small talk. Mary carried in the serving spoons and Tara the stemware. Lee went in search of a corkscrew, and when he found it, Jake opened the bottle.

  “It sure smells good in here!” he said, sniffing the air.

  “It’s all ready. Let’s sit down, everybody,” Tara announced. They all gathered around the table, Jake exclaiming about the food in front of him.

  “I haven’t had chicken and biscuits in forever!”

  Tara poured Jake some wine, and Lee wanted some too. As she moved to fill Mary’s glass, she held a hand up, stopping her.

  The food was as delicious as it looked and smelled, and they ate in total silence for a few minutes. Finally, Jake came up for air.

  “Man was that good.”

  “Have seconds, Jake, there’s plenty,” Lee told him. But Jake was full.

  “Save room for fudge,” Tara said.

  Jake looked startled then pleased. “I think I’ve died and gone to heaven,” he laughed. Immediately, a worried expression came over his face. “I mean,” he stammered, pausing. Puzzled, Tara watched him, wondering what was wrong, as he started over.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make a joke about death. I heard about your friend dying last night.” Tara’s eyes met Mary’s across the table and she knew her own mirrored the suspicion there.

  “Yes, it was our friend, Clyde. He was a sweet old gentleman, like a grandfather to me. But he was ninety-five, so it was a good long life.”

  “I’m sorry,” Jake said sheepishly.

  “How did you hear?” Tara asked innocently.

  Jake thought briefly. “I think at the camp this morning, when I delivered a wine order there,” he said offhandedly. “Or maybe my boss told me, I don’t remember.”

  Tara changed the subject. “The party sure was fun. Mr. Brenner seems like a nice man. Does he h
ave any children to take over for him someday?”

  “No, he’s never been married that I know of. His cousin, that big guy you asked me about, that’s his only family I think. Brenner owned another big winery between here and Cleveland. That’s where I worked for him at first. He moved most of the product down here when he decided to open this one.”

  Jake drained his glass and Lee immediately poured him another. “Are you trying to get me drunk?” he laughed.

  Lee joined him, holding his glass up in a toast. “Why not?”

  Jake turned back to Tara. “Mr. Brenner’s been good to me. I just showed up one day looking for a job and he hired me. I was still living in the orphanage, just turned sixteen. He took me in, gave me a place to stay at the winery—basically gave me a reason to get up every day, a family.”

  This kid’s not involved. The thought sprang instantly into Tara’s head. He’s too open, honest—raw even. Tara glanced at Mary and assumed she was thinking the same thing. Maybe it was time to offer Jake another refuge.

  “Jake, we like you and hope you’ll come around more often. We usually seem to find enough food, and you’ll always be welcome. These days I guess we have to piece together our own families.”

  Jake smiled at Tara, nodding vigorously. “I’d be honored! I’m happy to help you do chores and stuff too, when I’m done with my duties at the winery. I mean, no offense, but I noticed your leg.” He motioned toward Lee’s crutch.

  “None taken,” Lee smiled. “It’s healing nicely, but I could use a little help around here.”

  “It’s a deal then.” Tara held out the plate of fudge and Jake helped himself. Mary and Tara exchanged a look. To Tara it said: Useful maybe, but not the bad guy. Plus, he was just about the age their son would’ve been. Tara felt sorry for him.

  ~

  Just before midnight, Mary arrived at Tara’s for their shift of surveillance dressed in her darkest clothes. She looked somewhat like a middle-aged ninja, and Tara tried to suppress her smile—since she was sure she looked very much the same. Lee still did not like the idea of her going, but he also understood her well enough to know resistance was futile. Instead, he focused on the most efficient way to get it done. “Have you got the gun and is it fully loaded?”

  Tara answered in the affirmative and kissed him goodbye. His answering subtle scowl trumpeted his negative opinion, but he stood at the door watching them leave.

  That frown seems permanently etched on his face lately.

  But it couldn’t be helped. Tara simply could not stand too much free time to sit and think about Clyde’s awful death. As it was, her mind kept running the scene on a continuous loop through her head.

  “He’s not too happy about this,” Mary opined.

  “He mostly hates being useless,” she told Mary as they exited the back yard on to the street, “and that he can’t go in my place.”

  They were gathering at Craig and Bethany’s house just down from Clyde’s, and Luke’s mother, Jenny, planned to meet them there as well. Her stint in the Resistance with Luke’s dad, Kevin, made her a much better option for the reconnaissance than Craig’s girlfriend. Bethany was a very sweet young girl—that was the problem—too young, and extremely timid as a rule. This operation called for a little more chutzpah. Tara didn’t feel particularly courageous, but after what Clyde had endured, she was full of purposeful rage. Revenge was her motive. Revenge on whoever had done this, seeing justice served on the monster behind the unspeakable atrocities—this is what fueled her.

  The women went on foot, as to better remain in shadows. They kept to the neighborhood backyards, cutting through them to reach Clyde’s area rather than using the streets, taking no chance of being seen by the perpetrator. They emerged near Craig’s house, checking both ways before approaching.

  Craig let them in, and Jenny was already seated at the table with Bethany.

  “Tara?” Craig sounded surprised.

  “I’m going to keep watch with Mary. I’ve got my own gun, and I can’t stand sitting home doing nothing.”

  Craig nodded, accepting her explanation much easier than Lee had. “Remember, everyone is a suspect. Anyone moving around at this time of night is definitely suspicious. I think for now, following them is our best option. Less risk involved, and it may identify the perp. Let’s spread out and stay hidden as much as possible. Take note of anything even remotely out of the ordinary. It may be the one thing that cracks this wide open.”

  They all nodded and filed toward the door, Bethany nuzzling Craig one last time before he stepped outside.

  “Okay, be watchful, but be careful,” Craig told them. “We will meet back at the house at five a.m. If you need help, blow this.” He handed Jenny and Tara shiny silver whistles on rope chains. Tara slipped hers around her neck.

  Jenny started in the opposite direction from Craig, Mary and Tara, heading to the other side of the forest to hide among the trees close to the graveyard. Tara and Mary had to use the main road to reach the bluff above the river and then the path down to the camp. Craig came with them, all three staying in the dark along the roadside until he pointed toward a clump of bushes growing beside the fence. Craig waved the women on, ducked into them, and promptly disappeared.

  No one will spot him there. And he’ll see anyone who comes down the road, either direction.

  Tara and Mary stealthily hurried through the field and down the path, half-sliding on the hill. At the bottom, along the river was the spot where Tara lay hidden those months ago, on the night Luke’s dad had been captured and Tara’s internment began. It was a good place to hide; she could see the path, the camp, and anyone approaching either way.

  She and Mary lay on the ground beside each other, their heads just at the edge of the embankment in order to see all directions. As Tara lay listening to the night unfold around them, she was acutely aware they were just two average women, totally unequal to the task of surveilling a serial killing madman.

  ~

  Hours passed with no sounds other than the average noises of an early summer night. Crickets, night birds calling, the rustle of rabbits in the underbrush, and the gurgle of the river were interspersed with Tara and Mary whispering occasionally. They talked mostly about Clyde’s funeral, and whether his grandson, the general, could be contacted soon enough to hold the services on Tuesday or Wednesday.

  Just after two a.m., there came the sound of a vehicle approaching from somewhere in the vicinity of the parking lot in front of the Kmart. Tara popped her head up to look in that direction. The slamming of doors was next, and then Tara distinctly heard the sound of Melanie’s voice carrying through the still night.

  “She’s back!” Tara told Mary. “Let’s go talk to her.”

  “You go ahead. I need to keep watch.” Tara nodded. She had almost forgotten their purpose there in her haste to enlist Melanie’s help.

  “Okay, I’ll be back in a little bit.”

  Tara crept quietly up the bank headed toward the front parking lot and camp entrance. It was very dark in the trees along the river, and she doubted anyone could see her if there were anyone watching. She glanced around suddenly conscious of this, her eyes moving over the barracks across from her, checking for movement. But all was still. She resumed her journey along the river.

  The guard posted by the front doors was new and Tara had to explain just who she was and that she’d been waiting for Melanie arrive. She didn’t want to give away their clandestine activities, so after a somewhat convoluted story, he eventually let her pass.

  Melanie was upstairs in her teaching room putting supplies away when Tara entered.

  Tara could see immediately that her friend was pale and upset. When Melanie spotted Tara, concern replaced the distress on her face.

  “Tara. What are you doing here so late? I’ve got some terrible news.”

  “Oh Mel, so do I.” The story of what happened to Clyde burst through her lips before Melanie could say anything else. “So I need you to contact his gra
ndson to have Clyde’s funeral.”

  Melanie’s pale face turned a shade lighter, her mouth hung open as though words failed her. Finally, she spoke. “The general is dead, executed in his office chair by someone—we assume Meyers. Because Meyers is gone, escaped from his cell. No one knows how, but we all believe he did it.”

  Shock at each other’s news froze them in place and they stood staring at each other, digesting the ramifications of the dual tragedies.

  “I guess for Meyers, revenge is a dish best eaten cold,” Tara whispered.

  ~

  On Wednesday, they laid Clyde to rest. Craig pulled into the cemetery near the center of town in a white camp van, with Tara riding shotgun. It seemed an ignominious ending for a loved one; transported via makeshift hearse in a plain wooden coffin to your place of eternal rest. But Tara was grateful and relieved Craig could secure permission to use the vehicle. And he had also seen to having Clyde dressed in his uniform.

  The others who had known and loved Clyde were already gathered around the open grave as the van slowly wound through the old picturesque cemetery. Tara saw Lee and Bethany standing near Tara’s bike and attached cart. The Heinrich’s were there, so were Melanie and several other camp workers. But she didn’t see Mary.

  Tara knew Julie still wasn’t well and wouldn’t be there; but she didn’t have the symptoms Clyde had, and this reassured both her mother and Tara. Luke planned to stay home to watch Ben, but Mary should be arriving, and soon. Tara looked at her watch. She’s late.

  Craig parked alongside the row of Tara’s family headstones and jumped out. Tara went directly to Lee and hugged him, then did the same with Melanie and the Heinrich’s. She greeted the others and thanked them for coming.

  “Where’s Mary?” she asked, but no one knew the answer, or why she would be so late.

  Craig motioned to the camp workers for help and they opened the rear door, sliding the casket out slowly, using the ropes beneath it to carry it to the graveside. Tara did not want to proceed without her friend— Mary loved Clyde almost as much as she did.