“It means there isn’t anyone around to kick us out of this place,” Dark Lady said with an eerie calm as she drew closer to Gracine, speaking with their faces only inches apart. “For you, it probably won’t end well either way, but I need to know if you have friends coming. Based on what the boys indicated, you all were living in a rather large home.”
Sutton and Gracine remained silent on the subject, and for Sutton’s part, he didn’t consider himself a good liar, so he wasn’t going to bluff. Giving out any information put the remainder of their group in danger, and he wanted to give Luke, Jillian, and even Driscoll a fighting chance.
Dark Lady walked over to Sutton, who looked up defiantly, not feeling as confident as he acted, because his bindings weren’t loosening one bit on his hands or feet. She ran her forefinger slowly along the bottom of his chin, almost as if he were a pet dog, or she planned on making him part of her collection soon.
“It won’t be long before you join your friend,” she said. “I know you weren’t one of the townsfolk who wronged us, but you’re all the same. You all look down on us as freaks. You judge us for things we haven’t even done, and you think you’re better than us because of the way we make our living. Well, you aren’t.”
With her last words, she gave Sutton a bit of a push, and he cut the bottom of his right hand on a jagged piece of concrete embedded within the landing. Feeling blood ooze from the injury, he immediately attempted to position his hands to a spot where he could cut the rope. As Dark Lady walked away casually, Sutton learned that he couldn’t even begin to cut the binding unless he laid flat with his hands against the ground. Short of pretending to fall unconscious, he wasn’t sure how he could convincingly pull off such a feat.
“We have to get out of here,” Sutton said just above a whisper to Gracine because the group members holding them stood across the yard.
“No shit, Sherlock,” she retorted. “How do you propose we pull it off with the moron squad watching over us?”
“I might be able to cut these ropes, but if they’re watching me, they’re going to get suspicious.”
“So, you need a diversion,” Gracine reasoned with a sigh.
She turned from him, scooting across the landing away from him, drawing the attention of the simple men standing across the yard. Sutton slowly rubbed the rope against the jagged portion of the concrete, not satisfied with the protracted results. He glanced, seeing all eyes focused on Gracine, so he laid down flat, trying to expedite the process. In order to make any significant progress, he would need to slide his wrists up and down along the sharp edge, which required his elbows. Sutton quickly realized it might require more than a few minutes to get anywhere significant with the weakening of the ropes, and his actions would certainly be noticed. He cleared his throat, and when she looked his way, Sutton indicated she could stop wriggling with a negative shake of his head.
If either of them got stabbed or shot ahead of their scheduled execution times, their allies would suffer. Sutton often saved the group with his firearms training and ability to scout bad situations ahead of time. He didn’t like the chances of the remainder of the group saving themselves, much less him, if he didn’t find a way to get free.
Both Sutton and Gracine observed their surrounds to find something, anything, useful in getting them free of their predicament, but the former tenants kept the yard cleared of toys, gardening tools, and other debris. Despite his lingering headache, Sutton knew the circus folks had taken even the smallest knives from his pants. He studied them momentarily, noticing only the skinny man spoke. The man covered in animal pelts, the largest of the three, only grunted or nodded, as though incapable of speech. To Sutton, the scene before him reminded him of some apocalyptic movie where humanoids born of holocaust survivors lived and acted like cavemen.
Such men weren’t incredibly intelligent, but they presented a different sort of danger.
He questioned why the nomads hadn’t taken a more proactive approach to seeing if other people occupied the town, but they appeared capable of handling virtually anything that came their way. Strangely, they didn’t seem to recognize their own shortcomings and weaknesses, and Sutton itched for a do-over where he visited this property armed to the teeth.
Dark Lady had ducked into the house, and the skinny man spoke to the two enforcers, saying something that caused them to also disappear inside.
“What was that about?” Gracine questioned.
“I don’t know, but it can’t be good.”
“It might not be as bad as you think,” an unseen voice said from behind the fence, quiet enough that their abductors couldn’t hear.
“Jillian?” Gracine asked, purposely not turning her head.
“It’s me. What the hell did you two get yourselves into?”
“We found Juan,” Sutton answered.
A momentary silence followed, and Sutton imagined Jillian peered through one of the numerous natural holes in the wooden fence. He and Gracine hadn’t found proper time to process Vazquez’s death, or mourn the man, and Jillian reacted much the same.
“We need to get you the fuck out of there.”
“Barney Fife is keeping watch over there,” Gracine noted.
Sutton heard a thump behind him once the skinny man glanced to one side momentarily. His hands felt around the soft ground until they came upon a knife blade that nearly sliced into one of his fingers. Using the tool, he freed himself in a matter of seconds and flipped it to Gracine, who quickly did the same with her hands. Severing the rope at her feet would certainly be noticed by the posted guard, so she hesitated.
“How do we play this?” she asked.
“Where are the others, Jillian?” Sutton asked.
“Luke and Samantha are with me. Your buddy was checking the other end of town.”
Sutton wondered if the two larger men went after Driscoll, possibly hearing a vehicle, or seeing a sign of life. South Hill wasn’t a very large town, but it covered considerable acreage with a highway running through it. Perhaps Dark Lady grew impatient and sent them ahead on a scouting mission.
“Do you have a gun?” Sutton asked Jillian without turning to the fence.
“I have several.”
“Then I say Gracine cuts that last rope and we get the fuck out of here.”
Gracine swung the knife around, sawing through the rope binding her feet with only a few strokes as the man keeping watch over them took a few steps their way before realizing Sutton was unarmed and he didn’t possess any weapons.
“Mama!” the man cried, drawing Dark Lady from the house as Jillian stepped through the opening in the fence created by the largest man tackling Sutton through it earlier.
Dark Lady stepped out from the house, causing an unusual standoff, particularly between Dark Lady and Jillian, who appeared to know one another as though they were lifelong mortal enemies. Their eyes narrowed, and their icy stares were figurative daggers flying through the air.
“You bitch,” Jillian said emphatically.
“You whore,” Dark Lady spat in return, causing everyone else present to stare with wide eyes at the bizarre standoff.
Sixteen
Metzger wasn’t certain of what to expect when he drew near the Canadian border, because he hadn’t visited the country since his teenage years. Little had changed since then, as a row of small booths and articulating crossing arms remained visible from a distance. Both Humvees drew to a stop as every passenger within them spied the same dilemma. On both sides of the border, vehicles clogged the area for almost a hundred yards each way where people had desperately tried to get to loved ones, or escape to safer areas, only to fail in their quests.
“Well, this looks dangerous as fuck,” one of the Marines commented as everyone stepped from the military vehicles.
“Agreed,” Bryce said. “But if we have to hoof it across there, that means they did
as well. We can grab a vehicle or two on the other side.”
Every lane of the border appeared to have nearly twenty vehicles blocking the path to the booth, meaning the Humvees could not pass, because even the service areas on the side were clogged with trucks and debris. With fifteen booths, and so many stalled vehicles, the United States side of the border looked like an overcrowded bumper car ride. Just beyond the booths, the lanes merged, leaving only two functioning lanes because construction had begun to create a pedestrian lane, along with three paths for vehicles.
Construction hadn’t finished before the apocalypse, leaving Peace Bridge littered with cars, orange construction cones, and a number of undead that hadn’t yet fallen off the precarious edges of the international crossing. Metzger could barely make out the details ahead of the booths, but he knew the journey was about to intensify in danger.
“They can’t be far ahead of us,” he said to his brother. “That bridge is almost a mile long, and there are cars lined up all the way across.”
“Agreed. We need to get moving.”
Bryce turned to the leader of the Marines.
“One of you needs to stay with these Humvees.”
“We may need all hands on deck, sailor,” the man replied, getting in a dig as he tried to usurp Bryce’s authority, or at least test it.
Bryce didn’t back down.
“That’s lieutenant commander to you,” he said, drawing closer to the man instead of backing down, “and the last thing I want is someone with a little bit of knowledge stealing our only means of getting back to the plane.”
Metzger had learned that the Humvees didn’t have keys, per se, but rather switches that military people knew how to operate, and civilians might figure out with a little bit of tinkering. No solid means of locking them up, or keeping them safe from marauders, came to mind except for leaving a stationed guard with them. From simple observation, Metzger knew how to turn on the batteries and the ignition, so it wouldn’t be difficult for someone else to figure out the system.
“I know we need the numbers,” Bryce said to everyone present, “but all of this is for nothing if we don’t make it back to the plane. The pilots are already on edge after I told them we were taking a detour, and they’d shit their pants if I told them we were crossing the border, so we need to keep this short and sweet.”
Molly stepped forward.
“I’ll do whatever I can to make up for leaving someone behind. I’ve gotten good with firearms through all of this.”
Bryce nodded his appreciation.
“Choose a man,” he told the Marine leader.
“Coffey, that’s you,” the man said to an obviously disappointed Marine.
Shooting zombies and exploring uncharted territory was always preferable to babysitting military hardware.
“Stay right here, and stay frosty,” the Marine leader warned the man, giving direct orders after being cut down by Bryce in front of his squad mates.
Bryce began weaving through the vehicles toward the booths, and everyone followed his lead, keeping weapons drawn. Metzger kept his sidearm holstered for the moment, opting to carry the short sword instead. Only a few zombies staggered aimlessly before them until they heard the noise of the approaching group. When the two dead lurkers locked eyes with members of the group, Metzger looked to his brother for permission to silently deal with the threat.
Bryce nodded, and Metzger stepped forward, slicing each of them through the skull with precision before they got close enough to bite at him.
Not even to the booths yet, the group proceeded tensely, carefully panning for zombies behind cars, and even at their feet, because the undead sometimes lurked beneath vehicles until something caught their attention. Metzger felt the wind slap his face, and he knew he couldn’t hear anyone from his group speak unless they yelled, because the wind off the lake created a chilly, noisy environment.
Molly stayed close to Metzger, possibly because he was the only familiar face to her. As the group drew closer to the small booths, he saw the damage done to the area as none of the crossing arms remained intact. He could almost feel the panic as civilization broke down and frenzied people tried their damnedest to find their loved ones. Metzger envisioned people trapped in cars, or pursued by ravenous undead, many dying tragically on a bridge of all places.
Metzger had to squeeze between a black car and a booth once he neared the bridge itself, startled when a zombie trapped inside the booth smacked the glass from inside. His heart skipped a beat, and one look at Molly indicated she was caught off-guard as well. Ordinarily, Metzger might have opened the door and dealt with the member of the undead, but he didn’t have a second to spare. He glared at the zombie, which seemed to sneer at him for not opening the door as it pawed at the glass. Although faded and dirty, the man wore a blue shirt to indicate he worked in the booth, and Metzger imagined he was bitten early on and barricaded himself in his workplace until the grim reaper came for him.
“We can deal with him later,” Molly said, literally giving Metzger a light push to urge him forward.
Except for Metzger and Molly, the group fanned out, each passing through a different booth to ensure the path ahead looked clear. They couldn’t convene on the other side due to the sheer number of stalled vehicles continuing to block the roads. On a few different occasions, Metzger witnessed zombies appear from behind the cars, vans, and trucks, but the military men dealt with them silently, careful to avoid drawing attention to their group.
He wondered if Fournier and his people walked into danger, or if they simply skirted past it, hurried to reach their safe haven in Canada.
“These instructions,” Metzger said to Molly. “Do you think they apply to more than just Fournier and his group?”
“You mean multiple groups?” she questioned. “I think so, but it seems they had a network in place, which means they probably have multiple rendezvous points. I doubt anyone is simply going to walk up to one of these and find the mastermind behind all of this.”
“Nadeau,” Metzger reminded her of the name.
“Right.”
Pressing forward, the group spotted a zombie ahead of them along the left side where construction suddenly stopped and only the initial groundwork of the road was visible. Without any barriers along the side, and only portions of the foundation completed with solid materials, a person not paying attention might fall off the side of the bridge altogether. As this zombie took notice of the group coming her way, she focused her gaze at them and began walking without once looking to the ground. One instant she was walking at them with slacks and a tattered blouse, and the next she disappeared from sight as the ground vanished from beneath her feet.
Metzger didn’t see how until he stepped closer, but she walked off solid concrete to a portion of the bridge where only guide wires and rebar formed a skeletal version of what the bridge was meant to become. He peered off the bridge, finding the Niagara River flowing below, meaning a fall that would almost certainly kill someone when they impacted with the water where the river met Lake Erie. At best, the victim would break enough bones that they drowned shortly thereafter from an inability to swim.
A thought occurred to Metzger that Fournier and anyone with him might spot them and take shots with a sniper rifle, or lay some kind of trap. More than likely, however, they were moving as quickly as humanly possible to the rendezvous point to escape their due punishment. The trip to Canada wasn’t extremely far, and Metzger assumed they located a vehicle at some point, so they were likely two days behind Fournier, but this was their only realistic chance at finding some answers.
Crossing the bridge didn’t take as much time as Metzger initially figured. It felt like a one-mile hike with a few murderous obstacles along the way. Several cars dangled precariously over the side of the bridge, and more than once they encountered undead trapped inside vehicles for eternity unless someone put th
em out of their misery. On the other end of the bridge they found the booths in much the same condition as the others, with vehicles lined up in all varying degrees for a quarter mile.
During the trek across Peace Bridge, Metzger saw a few zombies floating in the Niagara River between Lake Erie and Lake Ontario. Short of bottled water he occasionally discovered on the road, Metzger didn’t chance drinking water from any natural source after seeing the undead contaminate virtually every stream, river, pond, and lake he’d seen during his travels. Even a rural well might present a hazard if a zombie randomly fell into it, and though Metzger couldn’t scientifically determine whether the undead contaminated water through extended contact, he didn’t want to take the chance.
Fighting their way past a few more random undead, the group finally saw some clear patches off the side of the road where vehicles once slowed for the border crossing. Metzger consciously began looking for a vehicle or two that might transport the group to their destination, still at least an hour away by car if they didn’t encounter any issues.
“See anything enticing?” Bryce asked as the group came back together, divided by the occasional vehicle as they neared the end of the congestion.
“There,” Metzger said, pointing to an older van that might hold all of them.
Bryce allowed the Marines to scope out the vehicle first, perhaps giving their leader a chance to look good in front of his men and regain some dignity after creating an unnecessary argument. They surrounded it, guns in a ready position, and one of the subordinates slid the side door open. No zombies emerged, and after half a minute or so the leader walked over to Bryce, Metzger, and Molly.
“It’s clear, but we couldn’t locate any keys.”
“Let’s spread out and look around,” Bryce ordered no one in particular. “Every passing second puts us that much closer to losing this lead.”
Metzger and Molly fanned out toward a group of cars near a crew cab truck, finding one car occupied by a zombie and another with two flat tires. The truck, however, posed no threat, and after a brief search, Molly came up with keys from the glove compartment. She dangled them in front of Metzger with a thankful smile.
The Undead Chronicles (Vol. 2): Darker Days Page 21