This is the End 3: The Post-Apocalyptic Box Set (8 Book Collection)

by J. Thorn

  We kept moving, slow and quiet. There was an occasional scream in the woods behind us, but nothing that sounded like pursuit. Slowly we pushed our way through the woods, not encountering any infected. Dog stayed two paces in front of me, ears at full mast and tail tucked tightly along his back legs. Every few seconds he would glance back to make sure I was still close to him, then would go back to scanning the dark forest in front of us.

  More than an hour later we stopped at the edge of the neatly mown lawn I had crossed earlier in the evening. There weren’t any infected visible in the open area and we hadn’t heard any noise from the infected behind us in over half an hour. Glancing down at Dog I noted that he was alert but not on guard so took that as a sign that I wasn’t missing anything. We crept out of the woods and picked up the pace as we crossed the open lawn, heading for the back of the house and the slope down to the lake.

  There weren’t any clouds left in the sky and the moon gave us plenty of light to make our way without worrying about tripping over anything or running into an infected that was just standing there waiting. We paused by the body of the infected I’d killed when passing this way earlier, Dog giving the body a perfunctory sniff before turning away from it.

  Checking around the corner of the house I was pleased to see the path to the boat house was open and clear. Dog and I dashed down the slope, my eyes raised to the lake. As we neared the dock I slowed, then skidded to a stop, staring out at the water. The boat I had left Rachel on a few hours ago was gone.

  24

  I didn’t have time to stand there and worry about why Rachel had moved the boat. Behind me there was a chorus of screams that could only mean a small pack of females had spotted us. Glancing back as I pounded down the wooden dock I saw five females coming down the lawn at a full sprint. Crashing through the boat house door with Dog on my heels I grabbed the key for the speedboat that was hanging from a peg, a smiling yellow rubber ducky on the key chain that would float if the key was dropped in the water.

  I barely broke stride as I grabbed the key and leapt into the boat, Dog hesitating for a moment before leaping in and taking up station between the two bucket seats. It was dark in the boat house and I couldn’t see the ignition. Wasting precious time I dug a flashlight out of my pocket and clicked it on. Fortunately I was now able to see the ignition, but I had just destroyed my night vision.

  Inserting and twisting the key the two giant Mercury motors on the back of the boat rumbled to life, masking the screams of the approaching females. I scrambled to throw off the lines that tied the boat in place and dropped into the driver’s seat, hand already on the throttles. I looked up and cursed. The boat house had a pair of wooden doors that swung open in the middle to allow access for the boat, and they were closed. The doors looked to be rather sturdy and I didn’t like the odds of crashing through them with the boat.

  Dog growled as the sound of running feet on the dock reached his ears a moment before it did mine. Pulling my pistol I sighted on the latch mounted in the center of the doors, my target lit by the flashlight in my left hand that was doing double duty as a brace for my shooting hand. The doors were only twenty five or thirty feet away, an easy shot, and I put six rounds into the brass latching mechanism. A .45 hollow point round is a big heavy bullet that will transfer a lot of energy when it strikes a target, and the rounds I fired did as I expected. The latch shattered then blew completely free of the surrounding wood and one of the doors started to slowly swing open.

  The time it took me to shoot out the latch gave the females the time they needed to reach the boathouse, and as I shifted my aim point to the walk door the first one burst through with a nerve shattering scream. I had her spotted with the small flashlight and didn’t hesitate to pull the trigger. Her face distorted for a fraction of a second then the whole back of her head blew out and covered the female behind her with blood and brains.

  The second female jumped over her and I fired twice. One round in the center of her chest slowed her and a follow up shot to the head put her down. Now there were two bodies piled in the open door and the next female had to slow to climb over them. She made an easy target and quickly joined her sisters. The fourth died as soon as she showed her head and with the doorway momentarily clear I shoved both throttles to their stops and the engines bellowed with power.

  The stern of the boat dropped into the water as the props instantly spun up to full speed and the boat nearly leapt forward. The bow crashed into the access doors, slamming them open. There was a shudder as the boat seemed to shake off the impact, then I could feel the acceleration kick in. We shot out of the boat house, pointed at the center of the lake, gaining speed at an incredible pace until I slapped the throttles back to idle. We were far enough from shore already to be relatively safe and I didn’t want to go charging around the lake at top speed in the dark.

  Behind, the surviving female stood on the dock and screamed at us. Even over the idling engines I could hear the answering screams from deeper in the woods.

  “Well, we’re not going back that way.” I said to Dog and ruffled his ears. He leaned sideways and pressed his head into me. Fortunately he was a dog and didn’t understand that I’d forgotten him in the truck when we had to abandon it. He was just happy to see me. After a few moments of making sure I knew he still liked me he walked to the stern of the boat, leaned way out and started drinking from the lake. He drank for a long time before coming back, burping, and lying down next to me between the bucket seats for the driver and passenger.

  The boat had powered a couple of hundred yards from the shore and then drifted another fifty or so before bobbing to a stop. The surface of the lake quickly smoothed back out and within a couple of minutes it was as smooth as glass and amplifying the reflected moonlight. The dash was backlit with a dim red light but it still took me a bit of looking to find the fuel gauge. It read just over half full. I hoped it read accurately. I also suspected that the two monster engines had a hell of a thirst and no matter how many gallons that half a tank represented it would go fast if I was heavy on the throttle.

  I dug through the lockers on the boat that were built into the seating and finally came up with a pair of marine binoculars. They were extraordinarily light, their housing air filled so they would float if dropped overboard. Holding them to my eyes I scanned a slow 360 degree circle, hoping to spot the cabin cruiser, but it was nowhere to be seen. The dock where we had stolen it from still teemed with infected, and the dock that Dog and I had just departed was quickly filling up as more infected arrived, drawn by the sounds of our escape.

  I didn’t think Rachel would intentionally leave without me. She had no reason to. She was smart and practical and realized that we stood a better chance together than apart. I had returned well before the deadline I’d given her as a time to give up on me. There was no indication that the infected had any way to threaten her while she was sitting on a boat in the middle of the lake. That left one viable option. Other people had somehow boarded the boat and taken it and Rachel.

  “Fuck me.” I muttered under my breath. First I leave Dog behind in a panic, now Rachel had been taken. I wasn’t exactly lighting up the scoreboard with successes today.

  Searching the boat again I hoped to find a map or chart of the lake, but no such luck. If Rachel had been taken, which I didn’t see any other possibility, then they were probably still somewhere on the lake. If they had just wanted her, the boat would still be floating at anchor right where I left it. Time for a search.

  First things first. I was covered in blood from the infected I had killed, drenched in sweat and smeared with mud and plant stains from my trek to rescue Dog. Removing my boots, socks and all my weapons I slipped over the side of the boat into the cool lake water and spent a few minutes rubbing myself as clean as I could. Feeling refreshed, I climbed back into the boat and pulled socks and boots back on. I was shirtless and the mosquitoes had found me out on the water and were having quite the feast at my expense. There was nothin
g I could do except suck it up.

  Closing my eyes I tried to picture the map of the lake I had looked at with Rachel earlier in the day. I remembered the lake was massive, going on for miles and miles as it filled in the low ground in the rolling Georgia countryside. Multiple little arms sprouted off from the main body of the lake and I was going to have to search each one of them. Edging the throttles forward I spun the wheel and pointed the boat in a southwesterly direction to start my search.

  25

  It was a slow search. I didn’t want to go too fast and waste gas as well as alert Rachel’s captors to my approach. Not that the Mercury motors didn’t sound like a growl from the hounds of hell, but the faster I went the more noise they would make. A couple of hours later I had lost count of how many coves I had checked. A couple of larger homes had boat houses large enough to conceal the cabin cruiser and I had cautiously checked them as well. Both were empty.

  My stomach was growling. I’d left the boat without eating the meal that Rachel had prepared and I’d burned a lot of energy. Chastising myself for worrying about my own hunger, I pushed on in the dark. Visions of Rachel at the hands of people like the men I’d killed outside the sporting goods store made the muscles in my jaw ache as I clenched my teeth. Whoever had taken her was not going to have a pleasant time when I found them.

  Another hour and countless coves later I motored around a sharp bend in the lake and immediately slapped the throttles to idle and cut the engines. On the north shore of the lake, no more than half a mile away, a large house sat back in the trees lit up like they were having a party. In the light that spilled down to the water I could see the cabin cruiser tied up at the dock next to a small bass boat and a sleek ski boat.

  Water is an excellent sound reflector and noises will travel long distances across still water. The lake was as still as a mill pond and I could clearly hear the sound of an engine I guessed to be a generator as well as country music playing along with the laughter of several men. Raising the binoculars I scanned the cruiser and other two boats which both appeared to be unoccupied. The dock and lawn were also equally empty. No sentries? Didn’t these guys realize what had happened in the world?

  I spent another ten minutes watching the house, then took my time scanning the shoreline on either side looking for infected. None to be found. Perhaps the house was just too far off the beaten path. There were no other houses on the shore for as far as I could see with binoculars in each direction. Just thick trees and brush that came all the way to a thin strip of mud that was the shoreline.

  Back to the house I spotted movement on the second floor balcony that must have had a fantastic view of the lake. An overweight man with long, greasy hair walked out through an open set of French doors, stepped up to the railing and after a moment of fumbling with his pants pissed over the rail and onto the lawn below. After what seemed like forever he zipped back up, wiped his hands on the legs of his pants and lit a cigarette before going back inside.

  I thought I could identify four different voices yelling and laughing, but between the generator noise and the music it was hard to tell. There could have been ten men inside and I was only hearing the ones that were making all the noise. I was sure there was plenty of alcohol being consumed and my concern for Rachel ratcheted up to outright worry.

  Starting the motors I had a brief moment of concern that they would hear me, but dismissed it as another burst of laughter floated across the water. Moving the throttles to their first notch I steered the boat towards the shore. About a quarter of a mile to the right of the house there was a very small indentation in the shoreline where I could anchor the boat out of sight. Cutting the motors as I approached, the boat’s momentum carried it into the cove which was no more than 100 feet across and maybe 50 feet deep. I anchored as close to the center of this as I could, the boat swinging around the anchor point until it settled fully.

  I had already reloaded my pistol after blasting my way out of the boat house, but I checked the loads in each of the magazines anyway. Pistol fully loaded with 16 rounds and two spare mags of 15 rounds each. Rifle with a full 30 round mag plus 1 in the chamber and another 9 full 30 round mags gave me a full military standard load out. I checked the security of my knife and was ready to go.

  Taking the key out of the ignition I hid it under a seat cushion at the bow. No reason to make it too easy for anyone that happened onto the boat while I was gone. I planned to rescue Rachel and recover the cabin cruiser if possible. If not then we’d have to return to the speed boat. I didn’t even contemplate coming back alone. They’d have to kill me to stop me.

  I slipped over the side of the boat into the water which was still over my head. Treading water I called softly to Dog who whined but finally came over the side as well and started paddling. I followed, feet finding the lake bottom half way to shore. Wading out of the lake I paused to make sure my weapons were drained of water.

  Satisfied with their readiness I stooped over and grabbed handfuls of mud which I smeared on all of my exposed skin. I hadn’t worried about white skin showing when I was battling infected, but I didn’t want to give these guys any more of an advantage than they already had with sheer numbers.

  Dog and I headed west towards the house, following the shoreline as we moved. The closer I approached the house the slower I moved until we melded into the trees, cutting through the forest at an angle that I calculated to bring us to the lawn at the side of the house. Pausing to listen every few yards I was glad to note that the tone of the party hadn’t changed. My old unit’s call sign had been Reaper, as in the Grim Reaper. Well, these guys had no idea death was coming for them.

  Reaching the lawn I dropped to one knee, Dog flattening himself on the ground next to me. His ears were at full attention, his nose twitching as he sampled the air. He stayed silent and I took that as confirmation of my assessment that there were still no sentries on lookout and no infected in the area.

  Across a long stretch of lawn a large diesel generator purred away. It was obviously built into the house and I couldn’t tell if it was the only source of power or just for emergencies. Next to the generator was a door that I suspected opened into a shop area where maintenance supplies for the house were stored.

  The house was two stories with a patio and covering balcony on the lake side that ran the length of the structure. I took a guess that the home was close to 6,000 square feet which meant a lot of rooms to clear once I got inside. It was relatively dark on my end of the house and I moved at a quick jog across the open space to the wall. Pausing between the generator and the door I reached out and tried the knob, not surprised when I found it unlocked.

  It turned easily in my hand and I opened the door a crack, just wide enough to peer inside the room. My guess had been right. A large workshop with an epoxy coated cement floor and walls covered with peg boards that held a vast assortment of tools. No one was inside and there was no other door, so no access to the house from this room. I reached in and fumbled around for the light switch, found it and turned it off. I would leave the workshop door ajar in case I needed to retreat to somewhere defensible and I didn’t want to be silhouetted by the light when I opened the door.

  Creeping along the wall of the house to the front side, the side away from the lake, I peeked around the corner. A sleek Mercedes S Class sat in a circular driveway made of crushed stone. Surrounding the gleaming car like a pack of hyenas sat six mud splattered 4x4 trucks. Two of them had Confederate flag license plates on the front and all of them were obviously brush beaters.

  Slipping around the corner I checked the closest truck and found it unlocked with the windows down. The keys weren’t in it, but that didn’t matter. I didn’t plan to steal it. Dropping to the ground I slid under the truck, risked my flashlight for a moment to locate the correct wire, and then used my knife to disable the truck’s starter. I repeated the process with each of the other trucks.

  When done with them I looked at the Mercedes and realized I wasn’t
going to be crawling under it. Instead I settled with flattening two of the tires. Now no one was going anywhere that they didn’t walk unless they were on a boat.

  Returning to the side of the house I made my way to the back and peeked around the corner. Still no sentry, and the party sounded like it had shifted into a higher gear. I rounded the corner and crawled to a well-lit window.

  Raising my head an inch at a time I finally got a look inside the house. A large room held three sofas placed along the walls. A pool table occupied the center of the room and seven men lounged on the sofas watching two others shoot pool. The fat man I’d seen take a piss earlier tried a shot that missed horribly to the delight of all the others who hooted and laughed like it was the funniest thing they’d ever seen.

  Empty beer cans sat on just about every available horizontal surface, many more dribbling onto the expensive looking carpet. Several empty whiskey bottles lay on the floor and cigarette butts were everywhere, apparently just crushed out underfoot on the carpet. All of the men were armed with holstered pistols, several of them with hunting knives strapped to their muddy boots. None of them looked like they’d seen a shower or a razor in at least a couple of weeks.

  Here were nine drunks, but no Rachel. I dropped back below the window and crawled on to the edge of a set of French doors. Peeking around the corner I saw a large kitchen filled with commercial grade appliances and a large oak table in the middle of the room. Two more men sat at the table, drinking and smoking. Rachel stood at the stove cooking something while they watched.

  Rachel was completely nude. Her back was to me and I could see angry red hand prints on each of her ass cheeks. When she turned to bring the food she was preparing to the table I could see more marks on her face, neck, thighs and breasts where she had been grabbed and slapped.