Wanda recognized where they were and said, “The road to the cabin is just up the road from here, not far at all. I think things will get better once we make it there.”
“Yeah,” Barry responded. “They can’t get much worse.”
“We’re alive, and that’s all that matters,” she told him.
Barry stared at the dash as he spoke. “My dad isn’t alive anymore.” His voice broke a little as he spoke. “They got him back at our camp, tore him to pieces… I saw it. He…he saved my life, trying to fight them off.”
Wanda thought long and hard about what to say next. “I’d say he was a brave man, your father. When this is over, I’ll make sure you get back to your mother, Barry. I promise that. You hear me? I promise you."
Barry looked at her now, shaking his head slowly. “No, ma’am, that’s a promise you can’t keep. My mother died when I was just a kid. It was just me and my dad.”
Wanda leaned over, looking Barry in the eyes as she spoke. “Well, then, I’ll take care of you, and that I can promise! We’re going to survive this, Barry.”
Wanda reached over and tousled his dirty hair. He decided he liked her, and he hoped her baby would eat and get better. Then he thought of his father and fought back tears as a thick knot formed in his throat. Looking out the window to hide his face, he bit his lip. Dad would want me to be strong. I’ve got to be strong. He swallowed that bitter pill deeper within himself, and regained his composure.
The baby finally stopped crying. Barry heard a new sound now, as the infant latched on to his mother’s nipple and began to nurse. When he glanced at her, Barry’s face reddened upon seeing her exposed breast. Whoa!
Wanda cried out with joy. “He’s feeding! Finally, he’s feeding!”
Even over the whine of the engine and the rush of night air blowing through the remnants of the truck’s windows, Barry could still hear the infant feeding on his mother’s teat like a suckling piglet, Wanda cooing to it and humming a lullaby. Her voice was like his mother’s when she’d sung to him as a child.
As they continued along, the road began to get more narrow and unkempt. The truck pitched and bounced over the rough, rutted road, and soon a red gate with a worn yellow sign that read Road Ends was illuminated in the headlights. Brayden switched off the headlights and turned from the gravel road onto a narrow dirt path next to another sign that read Private Drive, No Trespassing. He threw the truck in park and killed the engine. Although the cab of the truck was pitch black now, he felt all eyes on him.
“I need you two to sit here as quietly as you can. Get down on the floor, and stay completely still until I return. That horde has a long way to go to get here. As slow as they travel, you should be safe here for a while, but if any of those things comes near, with any luck they won’t know you’re here.”
“Where the hell are you going? You can’t just leave us here!” Wanda exclaimed. “The cabin is just up that road. We’re almost there!”
Brayden quietly opened the driver’s side door and stepped out of the truck. “I have to clear the cabin, Wanda. I’m going at this alone.” He reached behind the seat and grabbed the orange vest and the clothes he’d taken from the dead man earlier.
“What do you mean, clear the cabin? Is someone up there?”
Brayden hadn’t told her, wanting to keep her as calm as possible. “Yes, two brothers of the men who tried to kill us earlier, and possibly the child from the Suburban.”
“What are you going to do?’ Wanda asked, scared.
Brayden just eyed her flatly.
“I’m coming with you!” Barry said, gripping his shotgun.
“No, you’re not,” Brayden responded sternly. “You’re staying here with Wanda and the baby. They need you, Barry. You’re their only protection until I get back.”
Brayden finished putting the dead man’s clothes on over his own, checked the shotgun and holstered his sidearm. Looking up the dark, rutted path that would lead him to the cabin, he said, “Just sit tight and be as still and quiet as you can. I have a plan. If it works, I’ll be back soon.” He looked back at Wanda. “If it doesn’t work…well, you still have Barry and the guns. I don’t really know what else to say.”
Barry understood now. “I’ll stay behind and keep watch.”
And with that, Brayden left them hidden in the dark truck, and set out along the steep red dirt path. He moved cautiously, stopping to listen every so often before beginning to move forward again, until he came to the end of the rutted dirt road and could see the huge granite summit. Atop that summit, beyond nearly a hundred yards of ghostly moonlit granite, sat the cabin.
Kneeling at the edge of a cluster of laurel, he studied the cabin through his binoculars for a moment. A wavy, warm light came from the front window. A shadow moved somewhere inside the cabin. He studied the moonlit tin roof of the cabin, and as he’d expected, he could make out the vague silhouette of a man up there.
A circular beam of light winked on from the roof and passed slowly over the vast granite, too weak to reach the forest edge where he sat. Brayden watched for another five minutes, scanning the terrain for a way to get closer to the cabin. He knew he couldn’t move out in the open without being detected and shot down with nowhere to turn for cover.
To his left, forty yards away, he eyed a long crack, a crevice in the rock. It was shallow and narrow, but would afford him cover from the probing flashlight if he belly-crawled and stayed beneath the light. The crevice ended about fifty yards from the cabin. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. He patiently watched the guard on the rooftop, waiting for his chance to move toward the crevice. Finally, he saw the light flicker and wink out, and then watched a red dot grow bright as the man drew from a cigarette. Knowing the man’s night vision would be impaired after looking into the flame to light his smoke, Brayden scurried across the granite, moving low to the ground, and settled under the crevice, kneeling below the overhang.
*****
Barry and Wanda sat in the dark cab, waiting. The baby had gotten its fill and now slept soundly in Wanda’s arms, wrapped tightly in its towel and shirt cocoon.
“He’ll come back for us, Barry,” Wanda whispered. “I have faith in him. Crazy as he can be sometimes, he’s a good man and he’s smart. He’ll come back.”
Barry nodded, and then realized she couldn’t have seen him in the inky darkness that enveloped them. “He will,” Barry agreed in a whisper. “He’ll come—”
“Shhh,” Wanda cut him off. “Listen.”
They both looked toward the road as a strange sound began to rise from the hills below. Low at first, then a little louder. Something was moving up the mountain, fast. Barry tightened his grip on the shotgun, but could see nothing unusual out there in the dark. “What is that?” he whispered.
Wanda stared ahead and saw movement as something darted across the road, and then another shadow scampered across right behind it.
The noise grew louder. Dead leaves crunched and twigs snapped in a loud frantic ruckus as all around them the forest came to life. Wanda couldn’t take it; she had to see what was going on. She flipped the toggle igniting the big lights and to their surprise, an army of woodland creatures poured from the forest in droves, their eyes aglow in the bright halogen lights of the truck. A large group of raccoons hurriedly crossed the road and dropped off into the ditch, never looking toward the truck. Tree limbs swayed and shook as hundreds of squirrels navigated the forest canopy, showering the truck with leaves and acorns. A gray fox bounded past them and disappeared into the forest again. At the far edge of the light, four coyotes sat next to one another along a rock ledge, winded and panting. Their pink tongues lolling, they stared back down the mountain at the rising wall of smoke as if they were numbed and overpowered by it.
As Barry and Wanda stared in amazement, a loud crash resounded as a black bear burst through the forest and appeared ahead of them on the gravel, panting loudly in deep, ragged breaths.
They both froze as the large
bear stopped in its tracks, turned and rose on its hind legs. The beast stood erect with its forearms and claws spread wide and raged back at the dark mountain, as if ready to do battle. Even so powerful a beast looked helpless in the face of everything that had happened. At the end of its roar, the bear dropped back onto all fours and loped on.
Strangely, Barry noted how little caution the other woodland creatures paid the bear and coyotes as they darted among the dry washes and gullies and bounded over brush and rocks with no more than a reflexive glance in the roaring bear’s direction.
Soon though, the ruckus of scampering animals subsided, the canopy settled and the dark, foreboding forest fell eerily quiet, and when the night wind sighed, it brought with it the strong, acrid smell of smoke.
Chapter 9
November 9, 2:10 a.m.
Brayden waited a long, tortuous minute before trying to move again, until he was sure he had not been seen. Then, finally, he began to inch his way forward. Lying flat on his stomach, he crawled ahead a few feet and then had to reach back and quietly pull the shotgun closer to him, then inch ahead again, repeating this methodical movement under the overhanging rock, creeping ever forward.
He moved excruciatingly slowly, but eventually he could hear a voice from inside the cabin as he neared the end of the crevice. He was closer now, fifty yards or so, he figured. He carefully peeked from his position under the rock ledge, and discovered he was closer than he’d thought.
Here goes, he thought as he slowly emerged from hiding. With his head down, Brayden advanced toward the cabin, moving swiftly. He hoped the man on the roof would see the orange vest and camouflage outfit his brother had been wearing. Then he heard movement on the roof. A whispered voice cut through the air. “Billy?”
Braden kept his head down, walking steadily forward.
“Billy, what in God’s name are you doing out there?”
He heard the front door unlock and open, and a tall, scraggly looking man stepped out onto the porch. “Billy, where is…”
The man’s words trailed off as Brayden swung the shotgun up in a smooth, swift motion. Brayden saw the whites of the man’s eyes widen just before he pulled the trigger. A mist of blood hovered in the doorway where he’d been standing, and his body was propelled across the floor as Brayden swung the gun towards the man positioned on the roof.
The man on the roof fired a second before Brayden, but his shot missed, spraying Brayden with splinters from the wooden porch. Brayden’s shot hit him low in the stomach, doubling him over. He fell from the roof, kicking and flailing. Brayden took two steps toward him, drew his sidearm and put a round through the back of the man’s head, ending his screaming.
As the ringing in his ears died away, a muffled scream came from somewhere deeper inside the cabin. He entered the cabin, stepped over the body of the man he’d killed and carefully moved toward the sound. When he heard it again, he entered the kitchen area to find a young girl tied to a chair at the kitchen table, duct tape wrapped around her mouth.
Her wide eyes haunted him. She was shaking with fear as tears streamed down her cheeks. As she stared up at him, he held a finger to his lips, and backed out of the kitchen. Leery of others hidden in the cabin, he swept each room, making sure they were clear before returning for her.
“It’s okay,” Brayden said as he retrieved his pocketknife and began cutting through the rope tied around her small wrists. “I’m a good guy, honey. I’m an officer with the Fish and Game Department. I’m here to get you away from these men.”
After he’d cut through the last of the rope, the girl clung to him, her arms tight around his neck. With the girl in one arm, shotgun in the other, he toted her out of the cabin and across the moonlit field of granite, hoping like hell the abominations hadn’t reached the truck. His shoulder throbbed and had begun bleeding again, but he kept moving, shifting the girl’s weight occasionally, but never stopping until the faint outline of the Fish and Game truck took form ahead of him. He leaned the shotgun against the truck and tried to lower the child, but she squeezed hard around his neck and wouldn’t let go until Wanda had calmed her down.
Once he was back in the truck, he navigated along the red dirt path, which wound for two hundred yards or so, up through thickets of mountain laurel. Huge, knurled hemlocks towered over the path like looming, arthritic giants as the truck pitched and bounced along the rutted path, the engine whining its discontent.
Eventually, they came to something of a clearing as the brush, trees and canopy began to thin out. Gazing through the shattered window, Barry marveled at the brilliant, star-filled sky. The full moon loomed above the mountain, seeming so close that Barry felt as if he could reach out and touch it. Then he was staring at an enormous granite slab, the length of two football fields, sparkling in the light of the moon.
Perched atop the enormous granite slab, at its highest point, was the Pittmon cabin. It was a rustic, isolated structure and Barry thought it odd that someone would build a lone cabin atop the granite peak of a mountain, but there it was, standing sentinel like some timeless oddity from an old frontier movie, simple, strongly built and ready to defend.
Inside the cabin, Wanda used a long kitchen match to light one of the oil lanterns that sat atop the big wooden table. As the wick caught the flame, the room filled with the warm and wavy glow of yellow light. Shadows danced and bobbed in the corners of the rustic venue, pulsing with the fluctuation of the flame. Brayden and Barry hurriedly unloaded the supplies from the truck, and then dragged the body of the dead man from the living room, leaving a long red smear behind them, and tossed the body over the granite cliff before returning.
The pungent stench of blood in their noses was overwhelming.
Brayden fished a plastic bottle of rubbing alcohol from one of the bags of supplies. “Use this to clean up,” he told Wanda. “It’ll burn like hell, but it’ll help ward off infection. You and the baby need it. You’ve lost a lot of blood, and you need to eat, too.”
“You need to clean that shoulder wound,” Wanda said to him. “There are some extra sheets in the closet you can make a bandage with.”
Brayden nodded. “I’ll take care of myself after we get settled in.”
He could feel the clock ticking, knowing he needed to fortify the cabin. He began looking for materials to cover the windows. His eyes settled on the sturdy wooden table in the kitchen area. It was a thick, solid wood structure and would be perfect for the windows. The thick oaken door had a large wooden bar and holders for a locking mechanism, as well as a deadbolt the Pittmon family had installed. It would definitely come in handy. As he studied the old cabin, he realized just how well built the thing was. It was damn near a fortress in itself, a sturdy log and cement construction.
He climbed the spiral stairs to the loft sleeping area and opened a door that led to a small balcony. The balcony overlooked the edge of the granite cliff and long, rising hillsides that ran slantwise heaven to earth, covered by endless pine woodlands. He studied the blanketing fire as it billowed and twisted its way north to south along the hill lines, watching flames the color of hell lick upward hundreds of feet, drifting, blackening the heavens. It’s coming, he knew, and so would the enormous horde of the undead. He could only hope the vast granite slab on which the cabin had been built would be enough to save them.
Brayden needed to see from the opposite side of the cabin to watch for approaching intruders and decided to check out the spot the gunman on the roof had taken earlier. He turned and hoisted himself onto the roof, wincing from the pain that shot through his wounded shoulder, and slowly crawled over the roof until he reached the other side. He could see all the way down the dirt drive, across the granite shelf, clear to the forest below.
The huge granite field would function as a natural firebreak if the blaze didn’t die out before it reached them, which was why he had so desperately wanted to come here. Beyond that, the high ground would be easier to defend with a wide field of fire. The cabin backed up
to the cliff face, negating any threat from behind.
Back in the cabin, Wanda had started a fire in the potbellied stove, and had heated up a large pot of water so she could begin cleaning herself and the infant. Even amidst the chaos, Brayden couldn’t help but notice her beauty. She was a stunningly attractive woman when she was cleaned up. Harvey had been a lucky man.
Barry sat next to the girl, trying to get her to speak, but she hadn’t uttered a single word since they’d found her. She sat with her knees tucked close to her chest and stared blankly ahead at the walls of the cabin. Barry’s heart went out to her, as he knew she too was now an orphan. Brayden felt awful for the girl, but he knew they needed to prepare.
“We’re all going to need to defend the cabin. Have you ever fired a rifle?” he asked Wanda. He had already seen what she could do with a pistol.
“Yes, Harvey taught me how to shoot his pistol and his hunting rifle. I’m not very good at it, but I can get by,” she answered, as she went on cleaning the infant with a rag.
“It’s hard to miss with a scattergun,” Brayden replied. He handed her the shotgun and showed her how to load and reload it. “Just put that bead on what you’re aiming at, hold it tight to your shoulder and be ready for the kick. It’s not that bad,” he lied.
Wanda looked down the barrel and nodded her head. “I think I can handle this,” she said, closing one eye as she tried to aim it. “Just aim for the head, right?”
“It’s the only thing I’ve seen that will kill them,” Brayden answered. “The fire may get some of them, but not all. They’re coming.”
He noticed her voice sounded more confident now that they were in the cabin. She felt a false sense of security here, but he hoped she would embrace it.
The Zombie Apocalypse (Book 1): Dead Ascent Page 8