The Undead Chronicles (Vol. 2): Darker Days

by O'Brian, Patrick J.

  Sutton couldn’t understand why they would bother confronting other people when they’d already located supplies enough to last them at least a week. He fought to suppress his displeasure, ensuring he kept their trust if he ever truly possessed it. With Scruff working against him, Sutton didn’t trust anyone, but he didn’t have the jump on four men. He knew a pistol, a knife, and a sniper rifle weren’t means enough to deal with them by himself, so he simply watched events around him unfold for the time being.

  “You up for this?” Scruff asked, his elbow resting along the driver’s side open window, looking back to Sutton.

  “I’m up for whatever,” Sutton lied. “Is this a take no prisoners kind of thing?”

  “Nah,” Clean answered almost casually. “We’re like pirates. We take what we want, but we ain’t murderers.”

  Sutton noticed the man in the passenger’s seat eyeing him intently, as though looking for a reaction. He hadn’t learned the man’s nickname, but based on the man’s shaved head, he considered the possibility the man was related to Clean somehow.

  “Is there some kind of plan to this?” Sutton asked, not wanting to look too willing to take such a huge risk by invading an existing camp.

  “We’ll take the lead,” Clean assured him. “This isn’t our first rodeo. Just look intimidating and have our backs.”

  Sutton felt as though he was being tested, and part of him wanted to make certain his firearms and magazines still contained live ammunition. He’d never heard of a group simply accepting members the way they had with him, and being brazen enough to steal from other camps while they were still occupied.

  Within a moment both vehicles began traveling in the direction of the campfire, and he couldn’t picture any scenario where this encounter would end well for both sides. Part of him hoped they weren’t heading for Gracine and the others, but he feared he might not be able to act if it wasn’t his own people in danger. A nagging feeling told him his current group somehow knew about his other group, heading there purposefully to test his loyalty and eliminate him if he balked at assisting them.

  Riding in the back of the truck, Sutton noticed the man in the passenger’s seat looking back at him several times, causing him to ponder his immediate future, and the decisions he’d be forced to make.

  Without the sun, the air suddenly felt cold, smacking him in the face as the truck drove in the direction of the camp. The fire went out rather quickly, because Clean and Scruff didn’t understand the meaning of the word discretion. They hadn’t exactly entered town in quiet fashion, and with no undead staggering along the streets, and industry long since gone from the area, any vehicle would be heard for miles.

  “Have you done this before?” Sutton asked Hawk, feeling reasonably certain the sounds from the wind and the truck motor drowned out his words to the two men in the cab.

  “No,” Hawk answered. “I’ve gone scavenging with them in a few towns and some houses, but we’ve never messed with the living.”

  Hawk didn’t appear very enthusiastic about rushing headfirst into unnecessary danger, but as they neared the area of the campfire, he began scouring the area for people, or the undead, just the same as Sutton. Both vehicles slowed as the collective drew closer to the source of the campfire, and the odor of burned wood penetrated Sutton’s nostrils, letting him know they weren’t far from the shy campers.

  When Sutton spotted a lingering puff of smoke from the side of a house, he said nothing, but he knew the others spied the same image when the vehicles abruptly came to a stop. Hawk jumped out first, and Sutton eyed the truck bed for any extra weaponry. He spotted a shotgun, but didn’t have time to seriously consider snatching it before Scruff and the other man stepped from the cab. His sidearm held enough rounds to deal with a dozen people, but Sutton suspected the second he drew it, a figurative target would be planted on his torso.

  “Fan out,” Clean said in a hushed voice as all five men approached the yard in question from different directions.

  Standing several paces apart, the men all froze in their tracks when the clicks and clacks of firearms being readied and aimed in their direction came from the yard. Sutton found himself confronted by his old group, and he knew so despite daylight fading away. He wasn’t certain they’d noticed him specifically because he stood to one end, though it was possible they knew better than to call out to him for everyone’s safety.

  “You’re trespassing,” a man whose voice Sutton didn’t recognize said gruffly.

  Holding a pistol up in the general direction of the group, he appeared very capable, and extremely serious. Sutton wondered if Jillian had found a relative in her old town, or some family friend put them up for a few nights. No one in his current group attempted to reach for their own firearms, so Sutton didn’t either, but he slowly moved toward Hawk with good reason.

  “What do you want?” the man asked, not wasting words as Clean took half a step forward before the man fired a shot into the ground near his toes.

  Clean took a step back, providing Sutton time enough to see Gracine, Jillian, Luke, and Vazquez standing near the stranger, all holding firearms. Samantha wasn’t in sight, which he considered a blessing, and he hadn’t spotted Buster yet. If Buster saw or heard him, the dog would likely bring about a course of action Sutton wasn’t certain he could avoid anyway. Although he wanted to survive the impending outcome, Sutton didn’t want to see anyone in his original group harmed if possible.

  Gracine finally looked his way, and he provided an extremely subtle nod, which she reciprocated without being noticed. A few embers breathed their last beside the fire as their orange glow faded to black. Features were lost as darkness overtook South Hill, and the ten people standing in the yard could make out little more than shapes.

  “We just want a safe place to hole up for the night,” Clean said, holding up his hands defensively.

  “There’s five of you, and you’re armed,” the stranger said. “You’re more than capable of handling yourselves. This town is clear of the dead, so you can stay anywhere you like. Just not here.”

  “Here seems like such a good location though,” Clean pressed his luck. “And you’ve been so hospitable.”

  Sutton noticed no one truly had their firearms aimed at him or the four men he accompanied. He wished they would put forth a more threatening front, but he couldn’t say a word. If Hawk had told the truth, there wasn’t some codeword or signal Clean would give for them to draw their firearms, and the five men were at a disadvantage from the start. He considered the possibility the three original members of the group possessed their own signals, possibly hoping the two recruits would follow their lead. At this point, Sutton didn’t know what to think, but his heartbeat accelerated as an inevitable skirmish drew closer.

  “We didn’t mean no harm,” Clean said evenly. “We saw the fire and thought maybe we could see if there were supplies left around here.”

  “Meaning you wanted to bully us and take our supplies?” the stranger asked sharply. “Why don’t you just get your ass to steppin’ before we use some of these supplies on you and your crew.”

  When he spoke the words, he waved a hand at the firearms loosely pointed at Clean and the others.

  Sutton could tell Clean was itching for a fight, as though he needed to provoke people to somehow justify a shooting match in his mind as legitimate. Recalling stories about how the shootout at the O. K. Corral went down from different perspectives, he knew if bullets flew, it was simply because Clean couldn’t let the matter go. His pride, and his need to push other people to their limits, was about to ensure someone received serious injuries, or died.

  Closing his eyes a few seconds, Sutton opened them as his right hand slowly went for his sidearm. He hoped no one in his original group noticed the motion, or if they did, understood that he meant them no harm.

  Before his right hand clasped the firearm, however, Clean took
another step back from the group. He held up his hands again as though asking for peace.

  “My bad,” he said. “We’ll leave you folks alone.”

  Sutton knew as soon as the words were spoken, Clean didn’t mean them. Sutton and Hawk took a few steps back from both groups as Clean and the others virtually marked off the steps, giving themselves a safe distance from being struck by people with less accurate aims. While Clean assessed the temperament and abilities of others well, he didn’t necessarily pay attention to those around him.

  When Clean and the others turned to draw their weapons and shoot, Sutton was already prepared, drawing his sidearm with practiced speed, taking down the unnamed man with a headshot. Knowing he couldn’t fully trust Hawk to follow his lead, Sutton rammed his shoulder into the man standing beside him, flooring him before he could draw a firearm or decide which side to take. Firing commenced between both groups, and Sutton ducked, even though he heard Gracine informing the others not to shoot in his direction before the gunfire drowned out her voice.

  Any distance between the two factions appeared nullified to Sutton because everyone stood in the open, without the benefit of cover, so he acted quickly. Scruff and Clean were occupied, firing at the stranger and anyone around him, and he saw Scruff take a bullet somewhere in the leg that staggered him momentarily. Sutton took a step forward, firing at Scruff’s skull, attempting to finish the man. Scruff moved at the last second, causing the bullet to strike him in the shoulder instead. He whirled, facing Sutton with a scorned look on his face from the betrayal, before taking aim at the man he never trusted. A second shot from Sutton’s firearm struck its intended mark, dropping Scruff as a female scream pierced the calm night air.

  Sutton would guess the entire shootout lasted less than twenty seconds, and as Clean turned his attention to the betrayer of his group, Sutton took aim at the man. He didn’t have the time to accurately place a headshot if he wanted to avoid being shot in the process, so he fired immediately, striking Clean in the thigh. The man barely flinched, his fiery eyes staring through Sutton as he strategically aimed at Sutton’s most vital body parts, not caring if he lived or died at this point.

  Lining up his own shot, Sutton was about to put an end to his current nemesis when he was blindsided, struck by a tackle of sorts that sent him to the ground like a downed tree. A shot rang out, and as Sutton looked up, he saw that Hawk had tried to keep him from harm, now taking the bullet meant for Sutton. Knowing only one chance remained to end the encounter, Sutton took aim at a stunned Clean, squeezing the trigger and delivering a headshot that downed the man immediately.

  “Please tell me you did that to save me, and not to get me back,” Sutton said as he walked on his knees over to Hawk, who was already clutching his right side.

  “A little of both,” Hawk answered with a pained chuckle.

  He removed his hand, revealing that he’d been clipped slightly beneath his right armpit where no vital organs could be struck.

  “That’s a flesh wound,” Sutton commented sourly.

  “Still hurts like a bitch,” Hawk said with a pained expressed as Sutton helped him to his feet.

  Sutton quickly evaluated the situation surrounding him, seeing the three men he laid to waste nearby, and Jillian and Luke knelt down beside the stranger. Vazquez and Gracine kept watch over the yard, and as he approached her, Gracine addressed him. He noticed both of them wore concerned expressions, indicating the other nearby situation appeared grave in nature.

  “Is that everyone?”

  “Yes,” he answered, looking back to Hawk. “He’s okay.”

  Sutton said the words with a nod, indicating Hawk didn’t pose a threat to the group. He couldn’t be entirely certain his words rang true, but he could sort out allies and enemies later.

  Walking over to the other half of his group, he saw the stranger lying on his back, struggling to breathe. Blood dribbled from his mouth, and Sutton’s heart immediately sank, because he didn’t want for anyone to get hurt, much less die. Spying a seeping hole at the top end of the man’s abdomen, near the heart, Sutton knew nothing could be done to save him. Jillian held his hand, talking to him, saying all of the things people said to dying loved ones, knowing nothing could be done. She appeared despondent, and the gravity of the situation struck Sutton like an anvil because this man was no random stranger helping the group.

  Shock had likely set in, because the man’s eyes didn’t focus on one particular person or object. His mouth continued to open and shut as blood interfered with his airway, and he struggled to draw oxygen into his lungs. Inadvertently, he made pained noises that came from the wound and his inability to inhale. Requiring all of his remaining strength, the man squeezed Jillian’s hand, looking her in the eyes with the last of his focus, knowing nothing else could be done for him.

  “I love you, punkin,” he said before struggling to take a few more breaths, sputtering blood as he spoke.

  “No,” Jillian said, tears streaming down her face. “I just found you. You can’t die on me.”

  He drew a few more labored breaths before his body went limp, his face falling to one side with the eyes wide open. Sutton knew death never looked pleasant, but he hated when people died with open eyes, as though they didn’t know the last breath they drew was exactly that. He wanted to die in his sleep, not caught off-guard and bitten by a zombie, or shot while in the middle of a conversation. Such sights haunted him, though he wouldn’t tell the rest of the group such a thing.

  Jillian slowly let go of her father’s hand, looking at him lovingly a moment before turning her attention to Sutton with fury he’d never seen in her before.

  “You!” she stammered, pointing a finger at him. “You led them here! You did this!”

  “I’m sorry,” he said more sheepishly than he intended. “I was stuck with them.”

  “How could you?” Jillian demanded. “I just found him, and now you’ve taken him away forever!”

  She leapt at him and pounded his chest with fists and his face with open slaps, and Sutton allowed it to happen. Jillian needed to grieve, to process such a profound loss, and he couldn’t help but feel somewhat responsible for what happened. He could have dealt with Clean and the others earlier, but he didn’t know the extent of their depravity. Buster came running from the house after hearing his master’s voice, trying to take Sutton’s side, but Sutton couldn’t acknowledge his pet, even after Jillian broke away, sobbing as she knelt beside her father’s body.

  Everyone stood momentarily, unsure of what to think about the last few minutes. For his part, Sutton couldn’t believe he judged Clean and the others so poorly, blaming himself for not acting sooner. Although he portrayed a hard case to the group, he didn’t like taking human lives unless absolutely necessary. He looked back to Hawk, who appeared both perplexed and stunned about what went down in the yard. Sutton wanted to take him aside and talk to him, just to make sure the man didn’t pose one last threat to the others, but the timing wasn’t right.

  Gracine approached Jillian, being as delicate as possible considering the young woman had just lost her last remaining relative. She spoke gently, touching her on the right arm with both hands.

  “Jillian, we have to-”

  “I know what we have to do,” Jillian replied quietly.

  Most everyone started to step forward, ready to volunteer for the obligation of putting a blade into the man’s skull.

  “I’ll do it,” Jillian said, reaching for her waistline.

  Instead of pulling out a knife, however, she drew a pistol and immediately aimed it at Sutton, surprising everyone with fire and hatred in her eyes.

  “Jillian, you don’t want to do this,” Luke said, trying to step partway between her and Sutton.

  For his part, Sutton said nothing, figuring Jillian didn’t truly want to shoot him, or she would have already.

  “I stuck up for yo
u!” Jillian screamed at Sutton, her hand unsteady with the firearm as she aimed it at his face. “They were ready to write you off, because you’re so much trouble, but I took your side. I saw the good in you, and then you turn around and bring death to my doorstep? You took away the last thing that meant anything to me, and naturally you’re going to walk away without a scratch because you’re Colby, and Colby just does whatever Colby wants, whenever he wants, and no one says a fucking thing to him.”

  “I’m sorry,” Sutton said, genuinely remorseful for any part he played in the death of her father.

  “You’re sorry?” Jillian demanded, not lowering the gun. “Fair would be me taking something you love, like your dog, but your dog is more loyal and caring than you’ll ever be. Get the fuck away from me, and take your piece of shit friend with you, before I shoot you both.”

  Sutton called for Buster to take his side, slowly walking away with his dog and Hawk before the situation escalated any further. He looked back, seeing Jillian lower her firearm and draw her blade, prepared to put her father down for good. Uncertain of his future, Sutton decided time and some distance might be the best thing for him and the others. Hoping he hadn’t misjudged Hawk, Sutton wasn’t certain he cared if the man betrayed him and put a bullet in his skull.

  He wasn’t sure he cared about much of anything at the moment except making amends with his group, if that was even possible.

  Twelve

  Just over a week at the base nearly drove Metzger crazy. He’d been settled in with other civilians in an area away from the ships and large weaponry, but he couldn’t truly relate to them. Most of them were sheltered in the town, or the base, right from the start, and hadn’t truly experienced the hardships of dealing with the undead.

  Or other survivors.

  Most of the civilians worked in some capacity to earn their keep. Metzger fell into a teaching position, but felt that instructing children on the value of math and history didn’t benefit them nearly as much as training with firearms and defense techniques. Part of him longed to leave the base and find his old group, which felt foolish when outsiders clamored to locate safe lodgings, food, and security.