Refugees - 03

by D. J. Molles

  “You know where they went? How many there are?”

  The man shook his head. “Went back east. Don’t know how many there were. They was gone by the time we got back. Had to be at least fifty of them to take over our settlement that quickly.” He swallowed hard. “We had a lot of people in that camp.” His hand searched for something to do as he spoke and eventually just flopped down to his sides like dead meat. “This is what they do. They send out raiding parties and they kidnap people. Force them to work in The Lord’s Army.”

  LaRouche absorbed the information. “Anything else you can tell me?”

  The man thought for a moment. “No. I’m sorry, there’s nothing else I can think of.”

  LaRouche nodded. “Thank you. Please, go to Smithfield. They can help you.”

  The man eyed him. “You’re really from Camp Ryder?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Tell me something about Captain Harden…so I know you’re tellin’ the truth.”

  LaRouche almost laughed at the man, but he could see how fragile the courage was in his clouded eyes, and he didn’t want it to break. He could have given the man some random factoid about Lee Harden that might have sufficed for the moment, but he knew the power of rumors, and the power of legends, and he knew how they imparted hope and inspiration to the people that heard them, even if sometimes the truth was stretched to its limit.

  “Once, when we were fighting the infected,” LaRouche said. “I saw him fall down a three story elevator shaft. Shoulda broken every bone in his body after that fall. But you know what the bastard did when I went over to try to wake him up?” LaRouche balled his fist. “He got up and punched me right in the nose because he thought I was an infected trying to attack him.”

  The man smiled widely. “Is that a fact?”

  “That’s a fact.” LaRouche nodded. “When you get to Camp Ryder, you watch him walk. He’s got a limp in his right leg. That’s from his fall down the elevator shaft.”

  “Alright.” The man extended his hand to LaRouche, and they shook firmly. “I believe you.”

  “Go see for yourself.”

  The man stepped back a few paces, then faced eastward, where it seemed that he paused for a half a beat, perhaps struck by the forlorn appearance of his friends and family in their filthy rags and downtrodden faces. Or perhaps staring down that stretch of road and picturing the things that lay beyond that cold horizon.

  Then he continued to his truck.

  Just as the man reached his truck and opened the driver’s door to get in, he stopped and looked back at LaRouche, his face once again grave. “You boys be careful if you’re headed east. Ain’t nothin’ out there anymore but madmen. All of ‘em…madmen.”

  LaRouche swallowed. “We’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Best you do,” the man said. “Best you do.”

  ***

  As they left Lillington and drove towards the Sanford airport, Eddie grew more and more quiet. For a while, he held onto his rifle as though it were a blanket, but gradually he released his death-grip on it and now it rested between his legs, leaned forward on the dash.

  Lee chalked it up to nerves—it was the first time the guy had been out since he got to Camp Ryder, and his last experience hadn’t exactly been pleasant. Now Eddie had his left hand planted firmly on his knee and the other hand was inside his jacket pocket, and he looked out the side window at the countryside as it moved by them at a steady clip. He didn’t speak, but when Lee took occasional glances at his passenger, he saw the man’s jaw bunching quickly.

  “Listen,” Lee said. “I’m not saying it’s going to be clear when we get there, but when we were here yesterday, there were no infected in the area. And if there are any today, we won’t stick around.” Lee wrangled the steering wheel as he made a right-hand turn. “Trust me. I’m not trying to get in a fight today.”

  “How far are we away from Lillington?” Eddie asked.

  “I dunno. Maybe fifteen miles?”

  “And how far from Camp Ryder?”

  “Twenty or so.”

  Eddie finally looked away from the window, looking at Lee for a brief moment, and then at the rifle in front of him. “Do the patrols come up this way?”

  “Yeah, but not often.” Lee stretched his neck. “They run between settlements mostly, so they’ll cover the roads between Lillington and Broadway more than out here.”

  It was an odd question, but he was obviously worried about the dangers of the road.

  Lee did his best to set his passenger at ease. “We haven’t seen any raiders in a few weeks—we’ve done a pretty good job of pushing them out of the region. And as for infected…well, they can’t outrun a Humvee.”

  Eddie listened with his eyes closed, nodding. His lips were pressed down and pale.

  Lee looked at him with a measure of concern. “Hey…you alright, man?”

  Eddie’s eyes opened. “Yes. Can we stop?”

  “Right here?”

  “Yes. Stop right here.”

  Is he car sick? Lee thought. Having a panic attack, maybe?

  Eddie looked at him. “Please.”

  Lee let his foot off the accelerator and looked around, checking through the windows and the mirrors, and scanning the woods and the fields to the side of the road. Everything was empty and barren. Just more anonymous American wasteland.

  He pressed on the brakes and brought them to a slow stop, straddling the faded, double-yellow line.

  Lee looked to his right, saw Eddie was staring straight ahead, and followed his gaze out the front windshield. He saw nothing of note. The road led straight forward, the painted lines seeming to draw in on themselves to a single point far down the road. To their right, a barbed wire fence with cedar posts, only a few yards from the shoulder, and beyond that just a rolling set of hills once used to pasture cows. To their left were stands of commercially planted loblolly pines, standing perfectly straight in their distinct rows like soldiers in rank and file.

  Nothing else.

  Lee’s eyes went back to his passenger. “What’s up, buddy? You gonna puke or something?”

  Eddie shook his head. “I have to tell you something.”

  Lee had been through so much, and heard so much, been shocked so many times, that he became surprised at his own surprise sometimes. He swore to himself that he should be immune to the unexpected, but somehow it still had the power to knock him back a few steps. And whenever these revelations came around, they were usually preceded by something along the lines of “I have to tell you something,” or “I have bad news.”

  So Lee mentally hunkered down, determined that he would not let this shock him, not like the news of Abe Darabie’s betrayal had shocked him, not like the news of the acting president deciding to leave the east coast to die had shocked him. He was ready for this one.

  He lowered his chin, as though he were about to take a hard blow. “What is it?”

  Eddie looked right at him and held his gaze this time. There was regret there, and fear. “I think you’re a good man, Captain Harden. I think you’re doing the right thing…and you didn’t deserve this.”

  Lee’s brow wrinkled in confusion.

  “I’m sorry,” Eddie said, and then he pulled a small, silver revolver from his jacket pocket and shot Lee Harden in the head.

  CHAPTER 30: THE COUP

  Tomlin and Bus were huddled over the desk, poring over a very short list of names and trying to figure out who they were going to speak to first, and how the hell they were going to broach the subject, when Angela burst through the door of the office, holding the hand of Vicky Ramirez.

  The two men jerked upright when the door came open and stared, wide-eyed at the two women as they stood in the center of the room. The look on Angela’s face was one that bordered on panic and her companion seemed to be resisting slightly as she was pulled forward, her eyes red-rimmed as though she had been crying.

  “I’m sorry!” Vicky protested. “I didn’t know, I swear to God!�
��

  Bus spread his arms out, surprised. “Um…Someone mind explaining what’s going on?”

  Angela released her grip on Vicky’s hand and stepped forward a bit. “Bus, you need to hear this. And this isn’t Vicky’s fault. She said she didn’t know, and I believe her. Promise me she won’t be punished.”

  Bus was shaking his head rapidly. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about yet.”

  Angela stomped her foot on the ground. “Promise me!”

  “Jesus!” Bus threw his hands up. “Okay! I promise!”

  Tomlin stepped in and spoke in a level voice. “Why don’t we calm down, folks?” He turned to Angela. “No one’s gonna be punished, but it sounds like pretty sensitive information. Why don’t you tell us what we’re talking about so we can be on the same page.”

  Instead of responding to Tomlin, Angela turned her gaze to Vicky and prompted her with a nod of the head. “Tell them what you told me.”

  Vicky’s whole body tensed. “I didn’t know.”

  Tomlin nodded. “It’s okay. We just wanna know what’s going on.”

  Vicky began to wring her hands. “Well…it’s…”

  Angela reached out to touch her shoulder, offering gentle encouragement.

  “It’s Eddie,” Vicky continued. “He’s…uh…he’s not really my husband.”

  Tomlin shot Bus a look. The big bearded man still seemed somewhat bewildered by the suddenness of it all, but he lowered his chin and looked at the dark haired woman standing across from him. The look on Bus’s face was one of intense focus.

  “What do you mean he’s not your husband?”

  Tears were appearing in Vicky’s eyes again. “He’s not my husband! I barely even know the guy. He met me and my kids on the road, maybe three weeks ago.” She let out a tiny sob, then covered her mouth with her hand and closed her eyes for a moment. Twin streaks glistened on each of her cheeks. When she opened her eyes again, she seemed slightly more in control. “He said he knew of a place, but we couldn’t get in unless we said we were a family. I know it was weird, but we were desperate…we hadn’t eaten in days, and we couldn’t find any clean water. I don’t know anything about surviving! I was a hairdresser before all of this! But he seemed to know what he was doing, and he promised us…he promised us everything would be okay.”

  Tomlin leaned into Bus. “Three weeks is just about the right time-frame.”

  Bus stood as still as a stone statue, the only motion was the throbbing of the arteries in his neck. When he spoke it was like rocks grinding together. “What else?”

  Vicky and Angela exchanged a worried look.

  “He’s got a phone…it’s like a big cell phone, or maybe a radio,” Vicky said. “He sneaks off in the middle of the night and uses it. I don’t know who he’s talking to. I know I should have said something…but I just thought it was weird…I didn’t think anyone was going to get hurt by it.”

  Tomlin tapped his finger rapidly on the desk top. “Fucking satellite phone. That’s how he’s been staying in contact with Abe…It’s gotta be him.”

  Bus nodded.

  Vicky raised a single finger. “There’s something else.”

  Bus looked at her. “What?”

  “I heard one of the old men lost a gun.” Vicky couldn’t hold Bus’s gaze and looked instead at the floor. “I don’t know much about guns, but I think I saw it in his pack this morning. In Eddie’s pack, I mean. It was small and silver, and I don’t know if it’s the same gun or not, but Eddie never said anything about having a gun before we got here.” She shook her head as though she felt foolish. “I should have known…”

  Angela stepped to the desk. “I think Lee’s in danger.”

  Bus immediately whirled to the radio and snatched up the handset. “It’s him. Eddie’s the guy we’re looking for.” He keyed the mic. “Camp Ryder to Captain Harden…this is Bus…Lee, can you copy me?”

  Static. Unending and emotionless.

  Bus huffed into the handset. “Lee, this is Bus…answer the fucking radio! This is Bus!”

  Behind him, Bus could hear Vicky murmuring, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I had no idea…”

  “Can anyone copy my radio?” Bus held the PTT button down so hard, he thought he might break the handset. “Can anyone copy me? This is urgent!”

  Bus slammed the handset down and looked at Tomlin with alarm tweaking his features.

  Tomlin shook his head. “Something’s goin’ on, Bus.”

  ***

  Jerry held the dangling cable in his hand with a savage grin. He could feel the energy coursing through him like his nerves were rioting, like his blood had been set on fire. He dropped the cable and watched it droop over the mounting brackets of the radio antenna posted on the roof of the Camp Ryder building. He hadn’t permanently damaged it, but simply unplugged it. After all, they might need to use it in the future.

  He stood up and put one leg up on the lip of the roof, looking out over Camp Ryder, nearly shaking with anticipation. Beside him stood Greg, holding the little orange flare gun. Jerry took a brief moment to grip his shotgun solidly in his hands and breathe in the crisp air from the rooftop. From up here, you could barely smell the latrines and the dirty, filthy smell of the people themselves.

  From up here, he felt like a god.

  “Do it,” he said. “Give the signal.”

  Greg pointed the flare gun up and shot it into the sky.

  ***

  At the sound of the flare gun going off, Bus bolted to the office window.

  “What the hell was that?” he said.

  “Was that a gunshot?” Angela asked, alarmed.

  Tomlin shook his head. “I don’t think so. Bus, what’s going on out there?”

  Staring out the window, Bus watched a column of ten men, running across The Square towards the Camp Ryder building, rifles at the ready. “Uh…I don’t know…”

  When he laid eyes on them, his insides flip-flopped around.

  “Do you see anything?” Tomlin demanded.

  “Yeah,” Bus hesitated for a moment. “I think about…ten guys? Running this way. They all have guns. Shit, I don’t know…it doesn’t look good.”

  Bus’s mind raced back and forth, dizzy with the possibilities and unable to settle on any particular explanation for what he was seeing. He just kept staring out the window, shaking his head and frowning as though it were some puzzle to be solved, even as the ten men drew closer to the building.

  Movement from the front gate caught Bus’s eyes.

  “Wait a minute,” he mumbled. “There’s a group at the front gate…the sentry is letting them in…it looks like…I think it’s Professor White.” Bus suddenly snapped his head towards the radio and stared at the defunct piece of equipment, and then launched himself away from the window. “Fucking Jerry!” was all he said.

  Angela covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh my God!”

  “What?” Tomlin almost shouted. “What’s going on?”

  Bus reached to the top of the metal file cabinets that sat against the wall behind his desk and pulled down the M4 that Lee had given him and that he rarely carried. He shoved the M4 into Tomlin’s arms, then reached back on top of the file cabinets and ripped down the shoulder bag with the six extra magazines. “It’s Jerry! He’s trying to take over!”

  Tomlin didn’t ask questions. He slung into the shoulder bag, checked the chamber of the rifle to make sure it was loaded, and snicked the safety off. He angled himself towards the door. “We can hold off a dozen guys or so, but I don’t know for how long.”

  “No,” Bus snatched his old Colt 1911 out of his shoulder holster. “They took out our radio so we can’t call for help.” He reached out and grabbed Tomlin by the sleeve of his jacket, staring at him with laser-like focus. “You can’t go out the front door. The only way out is over the roof. Can you make it?”

  “I can figure it out.”

  “You’ve gotta tell the other settlements. Get some help to us. And find C
aptain Harden.”

  Tomlin nodded.

  Bus pushed him towards the door. “Not much time! Go!”

  Tomlin moved without hesitation. He bolted through the office door and never even asked how to get to the roof. Bus was confident that the man could do it. He looked to Angela and Vicky. “You two get out of here while you can.”

  Angela put an arm around the other woman’s shoulders and ushered her to the door, but then she only shoved her through and closed and locked the door behind her. She turned and produced a small black pistol from her waistband. “I’m sorry, I left my rifle in my shack.”

  Bus shook his head adamantly. “You’re not staying up here with me. Lee would kill me if he found out…”

  Tears welled up in Angela’s eyes. “Bus…I don’t even know if Lee is alive.”

  Bus’s jaw worked hard underneath the thick, dark beard. “He’s alive.”

  From below them came the sound of a door being thrown open and people started shouting. Two shots rang out, causing Bus and Angela both to jump and stare at each other with unabashed fear.

  “Alright.” Bus nodded. “Too late to turn back now.”

  He grabbed the heavy desk with an underhanded grip and with one great, growling effort he heaved the desk over onto its side. Then he crouched down behind it, and Angela joined him.

  “We’re not gonna fight if we don’t have to,” Bus said. “But I’m talking face-to-face with Jerry before this is over.”

  Angela only nodded, her hands trembling.

  They waited.

  ***

  Tomlin worked his way through the shadows, his heart thrashing around inside of his chest. Wild and panicked, it belied the steady, sinewy movements of his body as he crept over the catwalk that ran along the upper level and stood like a bridge across the main open area of the Camp Ryder building where a few people still had their shanties and most people gathered to eat their meals as a community.