The Undead Chronicles (Vol. 2): Darker Days

by O'Brian, Patrick J.

  Isabella sighed a moment in thought.

  “This place isn’t exactly like Fort Knox,” she said after a moment. “But they’re getting power restored, and soon the town will be functioning again. If I’m going to find out anything, it needs to be soon.”

  “Please don’t risk anything for me,” Metzger insisted.

  “It’s not just you. Apparently whatever they want from you may also involve my son. I may test the waters and see how people respond if I say I’m thinking about leaving.”

  “You’ll probably get the goon squad tracking your every move,” Metzger half-joked.

  “I’m going to get answers,” Isabella promised. “They cost me my husband, and I’m not about to let them poke and prod my son.”

  Metzger knew she wouldn’t be deterred.

  “Just be careful, Izzy.”

  “I will. And don’t you do anything to raise their suspicion. If we’re going to find out anything, they need to think we’re docile.”

  “We’re anything but,” Metzger said, forcing a smile as he stood. “I’ll see you soon.”

  Walking outside, Metzger knew both of them were hurting emotionally, requiring time to mourn that their current situation did not allow. He spotted his two personal escorts in no time flat, curious what the military had in mind for him, knowing he dared not jump any fences to force action on their part. Presently, both Metzger and the military played a dangerous game of calculated risks and nondisclosed secrets.

  He felt certain the soldiers assigned to him were meant to ensure he didn’t leave the base or begin searching for answers. Metzger understood he was a virtual stranger to the military brass, but he’d proven his worth a few separate times already, and deserved to know what they wanted from him.

  At least in his mind.

  Part of him wished he’d stayed with his original group, doubting a second mission would have existed if he hadn’t given the military specifics about his time around Buffalo. Bryce probably wouldn’t have made such a risky move against the undead if not for his brother’s presence. Metzger stared at the ground as he walked back to his quarters, conjuring ideas in his mind about ways to depart the base when the time arrived. He might jump a fence at night, or steal a uniform, or even borrow a smaller boat. He knew Isabella spoke the truth about them getting the Norfolk area closer to civilization with each passing day, meaning time became an adversary for both of them.

  When he reached his area of the bunk room, Metzger removed his shoes and socks after plopping down on his cot, feeling guilty for not mourning his brother properly. He felt terrible, because Bryce would want to be put down after his transformation into a zombie. Perhaps Molly assisted Bryce through the last moments of his life, or they ended up pursuing the coward Fournier throughout the isolated airport.

  Despite the morning hour, knowing two sets of eyes monitored him from somewhere nearby, Metzger swung his feet up and curled up for a nap, feeling a tear dribble down his right cheek.

  Twenty-Four

  When Brad Weir left Buffalo at long last, he didn’t expect such an arduous trek to see his family, but a number of complications slowed him and his buddy. They quickly realized that interstates and highways, particularly those that led into, or near, a metropolis, were often cluttered with cars. Streaks of blood across various vehicles, bodies beyond reanimation, and of course, the undead, were among the unsightly things they spotted when traveling in such areas.

  He and Mike Mullins decided early on that they wanted to stay closer to the coast if possible, briefly considering attempting their journey via boat, but the Atlantic Ocean wasn’t always accommodating. Without weather updates, they had no idea when hurricane winds, heavy rains, or other seafaring groups, might compromise their voyage.

  Instead, they decided to cut directly east, across New York until they drew closer to New York City. People tend to think of New York in terms of only the city sometimes, but Weir knew the state as an anthill of sorts, its many state roads intersecting like the tunnels ants use to complete their work.

  Strangely enough, the duo barely knew one another throughout their careers as city cops in Buffalo. Nearly eight-hundred sworn and civilian employees worked for the department, so the fact that their paths crossed only a few times wasn’t unfathomable. Weir worked as a detective off and on during his twenty-one years, while Mullins went undercover, spent time doing drug busts, and eventually migrated to helping at-risk youth with specially created programs in the city.

  At best, the pair recalled working on three particular cases together, and only one investigation required much interaction between the two. During the apocalypse, they met while responding to one last call from their dispatchers where parents had already been compromised after their undead daughter bit both of them. Unwilling to shoot the couple, or wait around until the situation deteriorated, the pair left the family to deal with the already dead daughter. They couldn’t reason with the distraught parents to put down their child permanently.

  After that, knowing the world wasn’t getting better, the pair decided to team up to better their chances of survival, looking for Mullins’ family locally after sending Weir’s family to an area he hoped might be free of hazards.

  During their current travels, Mullins often carried out navigation duties while Weir drove, and he decided to cut south about halfway across the state, taking several state highways into Pennsylvania because going too far east created a longer travel distance for the pair.

  “I feel like this is taking forever,” Mullins said from the passenger’s seat, his trusty, tattered Atlas sitting between them with creases in every inch of its cover.

  “That’s because it is taking forever,” Weir replied. “Every day we deal with moving cars out of the way and shooting the dead is another day my family might get killed.”

  Weir possessed one source of inspiration that Mullins no longer had, because he knew there was a chance his family made it to South Carolina with two dozen people from their church. He let them travel ahead because he felt they were safer in a large group, rather than staying in an urban area like Buffalo. He also needed to help his colleague find answers about what happened to his family. They found the answers, in between assisting any number of stragglers, and while Mullins wasn’t surprised, he was disheartened to find his family already turned a few miles away from where he thought they’d be.

  Currently driving a powder blue Chevy Cruze, the pair wanted gas efficiency after several various vehicle selections following their police cruiser, which they left roadside near the southern border of New York. They grew weary of siphoning gas for the marked police car, trying a truck and an SUV, which proved useful for clearing the undead out of the way, but terrible on fuel economy.

  “We’ve got something ahead,” Mullins said, looking ahead to the left, his eyes squinting from the sunlight glaring through the unwashed windshield of their latest car.

  Weir looked, seeing a small band of travelers dressed for cooler weather, pulling something along with them on the side of the road. Most of them dressed like homeless people from before the apocalypse. Wearing colors and patterns well beyond their trendy days, the group donned a baseball cap, a winter hat, a scarf wrap, and even a floppy bonnet. Each of them wore a backpack, likely carrying personal items beyond what their larger bundle contained. He grew less excited about helping people during the quest to meet with his own family, partly because some people didn’t want help, but also because some of them proved downright dangerous.

  “They look like they’re managing,” he commented, seeing that they were heading north, in the complete opposite direction of South Carolina, and an inconvenience if they stopped.

  “Up to you,” Mullins said with a shrug.

  Weir pulled past the group, none of whom flagged them down or even waved, but something nagging at him instinctively told him to stop. The car’s brakes squealed when he t
apped on them, causing everyone in the passing group to turn and look as though he’d stomped on the brakes suddenly.

  Despite changing vehicles a number of times, neither man bothered to don new clothes. While a number of different options were available, they chose to keep their police uniforms, partly to make themselves recognizable as helpers, and because any new clothes would soon reek of the same body odor and display a variety of stains. They saved themselves the trouble and simply stayed in their same clothes, occasionally dunking them in water when possible.

  Once the car drew to a stop, Weir opened the door and stepped out, seeing the haggard expressions written across the four people in the group before him.

  “You folks okay?” he inquired, receiving affirmative nods in response. “Where you headed?”

  “West,” one of the two men in the group answered. “We’re hoping to get settled before winter.”

  “Why west?” Mullins asked. “And why the timeline?”

  Mullins had opened his door and stood on the floorboard of the car, using the vantage point to view the strangers and their surroundings. He kept one of his hands on the car roof as he looked over it, while the other didn’t stray far from the sidearm holstered at his side.

  “We’re hoping the dead will freeze. And if we’re being honest, we’re looking for a place to hole up. Maybe a ranch, or some prepper’s bunker.”

  “Bunker?” Weir asked with a hint of surprise. “What makes you think you’ll find one out there?”

  “Not to be rude, mister,” one of the women said, “but we don’t know you from Adam. Why are you so interested in us?”

  “Sorry,” Weir apologized. “Just trying to be helpful. Didn’t mean to chat you up.”

  “Look, we’re just dead tired from being on the road,” the first man answered. “We can’t trust everyone we meet.”

  “Understood.”

  Weir noticed Mullins hadn’t said much, and his former fellow officer and detective spent his time studying the four people diligently.

  “We were with some guy who said he owned some holdings he wanted to get to,” the second man said. “He offered us shelter if we got him there.”

  Weir immediately thought of what they learned about the man named Nadeau in Buffalo, but Mullins tapped his arm, indicating that he not follow up on his instincts.

  “What happened to him?” Mullins inquired, breaking his silence.

  Each of the four looked to one man as though he was the group’s designated spokesperson.

  “He died in a car wreck trying to escape the dead,” the first man answered. “We couldn’t save him, but we snagged some of his maps and information. We’re just trying to get settled somewhere before winter.”

  Based on Mullins’ reaction, Weir decided to stay quiet about what he knew.

  “What was this guy’s name?” he asked instead.

  “Don’t know that we ever caught it,” the same spokesman answered.

  An awkward silence filled the air momentarily.

  “Any reason you’re not driving?” Mullins inquired.

  “We did for a while,” the leader answered. “We got tired of syphoning gas, so we’re hoofing it for a while. Where are you two headed?”

  “South,” Mullins answered. “Trying to find family members.”

  “You guys really cops?” the second woman asked, though not looking particularly interested in the answer.

  A game of cat and mouse ensued between the two parties.

  “We were,” Weir answered. “Now we’re just weary travelers.”

  “We know the feeling,” the first man said.

  “Need any food for the road?” Mullins asked, reaching behind him for two cans of vegetables, taking a few steps toward the group, causing them each to take a step back.

  “We’re good,” the first man said, stepping forward to intercept the former cop before he stepped any closer to the bundle of packed goods they dragged along the ground with them.

  Weir assumed his friend wanted a closer look at the group for some particular reason.

  “Okay,” Mullins said, backing away from the foursome.

  “Look, we really need to get moving,” the second man said, openly growing impatient with the conversation.

  Weir faked a smile.

  “Understood. How much further have you got?”

  “We think this guy’s property was somewhere in Minnesota near the Canadian border,” the second man stated, drawing a few raised eyebrows from his wording, as though he’d spoken something a little too close to the truth.

  Closely observing, Weir noticed the stares weren’t immediate, but rather a delayed reaction to his untrue statement. In his mind, sticking around too much longer endangered Mullins and himself as the group wasn’t entirely what they claimed to be.

  “Well, we’ll be on our way if you folks are doing okay,” he said.

  “Thanks,” the first man said. “Safe travels.”

  As he and Mullins settled into the Cruze, they exchanged knowing looks, both watching behind them to make certain the strangers didn’t pull guns and open fire on them.

  “What do you make of that?” Weir asked once they’d driven a safe distance from the group without incident.

  “Fake as fuck. They’re lying through their teeth.”

  “What did you see?”

  “Did you notice their body language? They kept looking to the one guy to answer, because they were afraid of giving conflicting answers and tripping themselves up. Their eyes kept shifting, and the way a few of them stood indicated an unusual amount of nervousness for them talking to two random guys like us.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Yeah. Inside their communal pack they had at least two rifles and some other heavy items. They weren’t just squeaking by.”

  Weir glanced behind him, seeing no danger.

  “Why were they really walking?” he wondered aloud.

  “I think they were plants,” Mullins answered. “They gave up some certain information awfully easily. They didn’t give up Nadeau’s name, but they certainly implied it.”

  “How so?”

  “One of them was wearing a Maple Cleaning Solutions logo on his coat. That was one of Nadeau’s companies before he blew up the planet.”

  “How do you know that shit?”

  “I read all kinds of business magazines back in the day,” Mullins answered.

  “Was anything they said the truth?”

  “Doubtful. While there are lakes near Minnesota, they’d have to hole up inside a bunker just to survive the winter. And I’m guessing they’re heading more northerly than west based on their route.”

  “So, if we’re running with the assumption Nadeau is alive and these people are his prophets, telling of his false demise, why bother? Obviously, the man planned this in great detail, leaving himself plenty of time to find a place to hole up and hide. I know the government is going to look for him, but they don’t have the resources to search every square mile of our country and Canada.”

  “But if the government isn’t looking for a dead man, he’s free to run around and do what he wants.”

  Weir kept his eyes on the road, swerving gently around a few lopsided cars.

  “Do you suppose he intended to create all of this, or just kill a bunch of people to make a point?”

  “It was an act of terrorism,” Mullins noted. “At worst, his efforts killed a few thousand outright, which is one hell of a statement when he gets away with it at first. But he’s already hunkered down somewhere, and likely has been with the government looking for him, so I’m saying he knew what he was creating.”

  “Money can buy you a lot of security.”

  “Money isn’t the currency these days,” Mullins countered. “He must’ve had this plan in place before those trucks blew
up. People trade in canned goods, weapons, ammo, and survival gear now. He’s either holed up for the long haul, or he stockpiled a bunch of that shit. Either way, I’m saying that dude knew what his chemicals would do.”

  Mullins contemplated something in his thoughts momentarily.

  “Why would these people cover for him?”

  “They probably weren’t lying about the sanctuary,” Weir answered. “I highly doubt it’s where they say it is, though.”

  Met with silence, he turned to Mullins a few seconds later.

  “You think we should follow them, don’t you?”

  “My gut tells me they’re part of something much bigger,” his friend answered, “but following them is dangerous and it sets you back even further from seeing your loved ones. Even if we somehow tailed them to their evil lair, assuming we’re correct about that, what the fuck would we do about it? And if they got one whiff of us, they’d change their plans anyway.”

  “What do you propose instead?”

  “Maybe we should make a pit stop on our way to South Carolina to put the right people on the scent of that Nadeau guy.”

  Weir nodded. He believed he knew exactly what Mullins had in mind, so he nodded at the map.

  “Plot us a course, sir.”

  Twenty-Five

  Jillian put together a plan almost immediately, but her group required the full day following their skirmish with Dark Lady to get the necessary resources.

  In the meantime, Jillian kept a close eye on the camp of their adversaries, finding one of the woman’s followers mortally wounded, and another two suffering injuries that limited their mobility. She’d spent the entire previous day monitoring their activities, currently seeing a fire illuminating the backyard in the early morning hour.

  A day and a half had passed since the incident that cost Sutton his spot in the group. The mortally injured man in Dark Lady’s camp had passed away the previous evening, only after he lost consciousness and Dark Lady used a knife to draw blood from a nearby zombie and slit his forearm to infect him. She gave the order to stand him in their yard as an undead watchdog before his body stirred. Held by a chain tied off at a stake, the man eventually reanimated and continued to grasp at the survivors around him without stopping for one single second. Not susceptible to tiring, the zombie didn’t blink or give up trying to grab a warm meal.