The Remaining: Extinction

by D. J. Molles

  There were the soldiers out of Fort Bragg, though. Lee trusted them only marginally more than he trusted Mac and Georgia’s group, but he was being forced out of the comfort zone of his trust in their current situation. He needed people to hold guns and pull triggers. He needed warm bodies, and he needed them badly. Whether or not he truly trusted any of them was beside the point.

  He looked to Carl, but before he could open his mouth, Brett spoke up.

  “Captain, I’ve got twelve good people in my group that are in good fighting shape. And they all got a bone to pick with the Followers.” Brett was nodding, his eyes alight with some unforgotten rage. He had come from one of the small towns out west that had been destroyed by the Followers. He and a portion of his group of survivors had managed to escape with their lives, though many of them had not managed to save members of their families. Lee imagined Brett and his friends did have quite the bone to pick.

  “If you’d let me,” Brett continued, “I’d like for myself and my group to take Newton Grove and scout those roads for you. I don’t care what you do with Mac and Georgia’s people, but let me and my people handle that for you. I promise we’ll do it right.”

  Lee only had to consider it for a moment. Brett and his small group of survivors had wandered to Smithfield looking for refuge and had met Jacob. They’d helped Lee take back Camp Ryder from Jerry, and they’d volunteered for things at every turn. Brett had a good handle on them, and for the most part the people in the group tried hard to contribute. Lee trusted them more than he trusted some of the original Camp Ryder folks.

  “It’s all yours,” Lee said. “Whatever happens with Georgia and Mac, whether they’re in or out, we’re gonna hit it tomorrow. Brett, you’ll secure Newton Grove. I need to find a small team to secure Smithfield, too. Carl, I’m gonna need a ride out to that bunker ASAP. Brinly, I need your cargo bird to meet me there. And Nate and Devon—you guys and the other team will be heading out to try to make contact with those infected hordes.” He paused for a breath and looked at them sternly. “Find pickups that are in good working order. Don’t take some fucking beater that’s going to break down on you. Take some extra gas with you. Keep in mind you’re not going to be going that fast. You have to stay in sight of the horde.”

  “Carrot on a stick,” Nate said with a nervous smile.

  “Carrot on a stick,” Lee agreed.

  Sam held his rifle steady. Quiet. Still.

  Beside him, Deuce was also still, sensing the tension. The dog’s golden eyes were watching the same thing that Sam was watching. Sam couldn’t figure how Deuce knew when to be still and when it was time to move. Instinct, maybe. Or maybe he could just sense that Sam was being still for a reason.

  Unlike Abby.

  Sam glanced over the stock of the rifle that he’d already brought to his cheek. Abby was crouching there, on his right. He’d already gone over the basics with her, but she was clearly too excited to contain herself. He didn’t know how excited she was going to be in a moment.

  “Stop squirming,” he whispered.

  She froze with an eye roll and a huff.

  “And don’t breathe so loud,” Sam said. “You’re gonna scare him off.”

  “Are you gonna shoot him?” she said, her voice wrenched tight.

  “If you don’t scare him off first.”

  “Okay.”

  “Sshh.”

  Up until a few days ago, Sam had enjoyed games of soccer with some of the other kids in Camp Ryder. But since “the Caleb Incident,” Sam didn’t feel like he would be welcome to play with the other kids. They were all frightened of him, which was irritating just by itself. But on top of everything else, he didn’t want to do much lately that would take him more than arm’s reach away from his little .22 rifle.

  He wished Mr. Jenkins was still alive. Wished that Kyle and Arnie hadn’t bashed his brains in with a pipe. Wished even more that he’d never seen it happen. But he had. And Mr. Jenkins was gone. Just like his father. Because people died. People died a lot.

  A good way to spend his time was hunting. And it didn’t even require going out past the gate. On the back side of the Camp Ryder building, in the area they referred to as the backyard, there was a big tree that Mr. Jenkins had taught him was an oak tree. And oak trees had acorns. The long limbs from the tree hung over the back fence and dropped loads of acorns on the ground there. And the squirrels made a habit of coming by to pick them up.

  Sam and his two companions were huddled against an outcropping of weeds that had turned into something more like bushes. They really didn’t have a way of keeping weeds and cutting grass—no one was wasting resources on making lawnmowers run. But Sam didn’t mind. It provided perfect cover.

  About twenty yards from him, a fat little squirrel sat on the fence, its tail swishing back and forth. It had been on a mission, making its way from branch to branch, before Abby had started moving around. Now it was eyeing them from across the twenty yards and chattering nervously.

  Sam could have taken the shot. Twenty yards was a casual distance with his little .22 rifle. But he didn’t want the squirrel to topple back over the fence. Because he might not be able to get it.

  They waited, and eventually the squirrel either forgot that they were there or decided that they were not worth worrying about. The bounty of acorns strewn about the backyard of Camp Ryder caught its attention again, and it began to descend the fence.

  “Shoot it!” Abby urged breathily.

  Sam shushed her again.

  The squirrel navigated the chain-link fencing expertly. It reached the ground. Looked around. Twitched its tail. Then it hopped down. Face to the ground. Started looking for acorns.

  Abby made an exasperated noise.

  Sam held on for a moment more. He waited for the squirrel to wander just a little bit farther from the fence. Then he closed his left eye. Sighted through his right. Down the barrel. Good sight picture, just like Mr. Jenkins had taught him. Slow, steady trigger pull, just like Lee had showed him. Let the rifle go off. Let it surprise you…

  CRACK!

  The squirrel jumped, spinning in the air.

  Sam saw the tail twirling, flying, and knew that it was a good hit.

  The squirrel bolted for the fence.

  “He’s gonna get away!” Abby squealed in Sam’s ear.

  But the squirrel only made it about halfway up the fence before it stopped. Even from twenty yards away, Sam could see its tiny chest heaving, breathing rapidly. It looked like it was hanging on to the chain-link with one paw. Weak and dying.

  “C’mon,” Sam said, and rose from his position.

  Deuce bolted out of cover and raced toward the squirrel.

  “No!” Sam ordered, jogging behind, and Abby bringing up the rear.

  When they reached the squirrel, it was still alive.

  Chest still heaving. Tail twitching. Tiny black eyes regarded Sam, and they were oddly emotionless, as Sam had found wild animals to be. Wild animals didn’t beg for their lives, or feel guilt or pity or sadness. They just fought to survive, until they could not fight any longer, and then they simply died.

  Deuce was on the fence, directly underneath the squirrel, trying to get his mouth on the tail.

  “No, Deuce,” Sam said sharply.

  Deuce backed off, but clearly didn’t want to. The dog watched the squirrel on the fence, his tail wagging furiously.

  “It’s still alive,” Abby observed, her voice sounding far off.

  Sam looked at the younger girl. She was standing in an odd posture, like she didn’t quite know what to do with her hands. The look on her face had gone from excitement to a little bit of disgust that she was trying to hide. Sam thought that was odd. Odd that she had seen the things she’d seen, and yet was still shocked by the killing of an animal.

  “It’s just a squirrel,” Sam said suddenly.

  Abby’s eyes jagged to him. She seemed unsure of herself.

  Sam looked back at the squirrel. He could see the b
ullet strike now. Cleanly through the chest. Just a little bit of blood leaking out and matting down the fur on the squirrel’s back. The squirrel shivered, then tried to make another go at the fence, only to lose its grip and fall to the ground with a soft plop.

  “Just a tree rat,” Sam said, stepping up to it. “You shouldn’t feel bad about killing it.”

  “I don’t,” Abby said, but it was obvious that she did.

  “We killed it, and now we have to eat it.”

  Abby shook her head. “I don’t want to eat it.”

  Sam bent down so he was kneeling over the squirrel. Still hanging on to life. “Abby, you wanted me to kill this squirrel, and I did. Now you’re going to eat it. We’re both going to eat it. Do you know what disrespect is?”

  Abby couldn’t take her eyes off the dying animal. “It’s when you’re rude to someone.”

  “Right. And it’s rude to kill animals and not eat them.”

  “Isn’t it just rude to kill?”

  Sam looked at her, gauging her words, measuring his own reaction to them. But he decided to be silent. He reached down and took the squirrel by the head. Then he swung it sharply in a circle, breaking its neck and finishing it off for good.

  SEVEN

  KENSEY

  HARPER’S GROUP CLEARED THE narrow gap of highways between Burlington and Greensboro around midday. Harper rode shotgun in the lead Humvee, with Sergeant Kensey in the backseat, tending to Julia, who was still in and out of painkiller-induced sleep. Charlie drove the Humvee and Dylan sat in the turret, for all of the good it would do with the fifteen rounds that remained in the M2’s ammo box. Behind them, their convoy kept an even spacing, and they didn’t slow down as they passed through this more populous area.

  Off to the right and left, Harper saw more glimpses of infected. Small groups of them stood at the edge of wood lines, warming themselves in sunlight and watching the convoy pass with unreadable faces. There was no human thought behind them, and no human interpretation could be made from their expressions. It still bothered Harper when he saw these infected watching them, tracking them with animal eyes, and Harper with no real concept of what was going through those half-eaten brains.

  As they cleared I-40 and continued south on Highway 61, the number of infected he saw began to dwindle. In the backseat, Julia began to make muttering noises. The sound of someone in the throes of a nightmare that they can’t seem to wake up from.

  Harper turned to look at her. Humvees were anything but roomy, and Julia was laid out in the back area where normally they would have stored their packs and supplies. Kensey negotiated himself with a few curses so that he could reach into the far back and shake her by the shoulder. She started and her eyelids fluttered open for a moment, but she was still too far under the drugs to come back awake. She settled back and was asleep again within seconds, but at least now she was not whimpering.

  They’d had a later start that morning than they’d anticipated. Kensey had not wanted to get the column moving before scouting out the roads ahead, and Harper had been forced to agree that it made sense. They didn’t want to pack up, thinking they were making an escape, and then just end up running into the massive horde they thought they were escaping. He wasn’t sure whether the majority of the horde was still milling about Eden, or whether they had moved farther south already, but aside from the few small packs they saw between Burlington and Greensboro, the countryside had been empty.

  Kensey situated himself back into his seat and leaned forward. “We need to find a place to stop.”

  Harper turned to face him, incredulous. “Stop?”

  “Just for a little bit,” Kensey said, as though there was no argument to be made. “I’ve got to check in with my command. And I don’t think Julia has pissed or taken a shit within the last day. I’m a little concerned about her fluid levels. Might need to give her an IV before we roll on. Besides, we should probably give her the opportunity to relieve herself before loading her up with painkillers again. Or she’s gonna end up pissing her pants. I’m surprised she hasn’t done it already.”

  Harper’s nose wrinkled. That would make for an unpleasant drive back. Harper was no medical expert, but he knew that Kensey was right. Someone under the influence of that many painkillers was usually hooked up to a catheter. Julia was not and she still hadn’t wet herself, which probably meant she was extremely dehydrated. He tried to think about the last time she’d eaten or had anything to drink. It must’ve been more than a day ago.

  Harper glanced at the woman laid in the back of the Humvee. The bandage around her leg was just barely bled through, which was good. Last night it seemed to be bleeding through completely within minutes. At least that had stopped for the most part.

  “How long will it take to give her the IV?”

  “Well.” Kensey considered it. “It’ll only take me a few minutes to hook it up, but I’d like to give her an hour to get rehydrated. Once the IV is finished and she’s more awake, she’ll probably need to piss like a racehorse.”

  Harper didn’t like having to wait for an hour, but he relented for Julia’s sake. “Fine,” he said. “Charlie, find us a place to hide out for an hour or so.”

  Several miles south of I-40 they found an old, abandoned granary. Sets of silos, most of them short and squat, stood together with vines crawling up them and weeds clinging to their bases. The tops were worn and rusted in places. Still, except for the overgrowth, Harper would have guessed that the granary had been in use as little as a year ago.

  The granary was surrounded by six-foot-tall chain-link fencing, with a gravel road leading in through a pair of gates that appeared to have been rammed open some time ago. There was also evidence that someone had attempted to get the silos open—large pieces of the steel siding had been cut through and pulled back. The interiors were dark and empty. Harper suspected they’d been dark and empty when whatever hopeful individual had tried to scavenge from them.

  There was a large, metal barn with stalls for vehicles and tractors and implements. A defunct, rust-red tractor sat in one of the stalls, along with a few moldering bales of hay, and some implements that looked much newer than the tractor. No vehicles save for an old pickup truck with no tires that was likely being kept for spare parts.

  They pulled the convoy in and tried to secure the gate behind them as much as possible, though the bent bars made it pointless. They drove behind the barn and parked. The doors to the vehicles popped open, Harper’s along with them. He stepped out and watched the others do the same. He was glad to see the few people left to his group helping the Marines with securing the area. They moved quickly through the interior of the farmhouse, while the Marines swept the rest of the granary, looking between the silos and small outbuildings and sheds for anything unpleasant that might be lurking.

  Harper and Kensey stood beside their Humvee and watched the clearing take place. Harper had his eyes on his own team and waited for them to emerge from the big metal barn. One of them held his arm up, his thumb protruding from his fist.

  “Barn’s good,” he called.

  Kensey watched his own Marines and nodded at some signal that Harper had not seen. “Rest of the area’s secure as well. Help me get her out. I’ll start the IV and then try to radio command while she soaks it up.”

  “All right.” Harper went to the back of the Humvee. They opened the fastback and pulled Julia out. She was almost awake by then, but still groggy, and her muscles must have felt like putty to her, because she seemed limp and loose. She squinted at Kensey and Harper as they helped her into a sitting position, and then down off of the bumper of the Humvee and onto the ground, taking care to avoid jostling her leg.

  Charlie and Dylan stood close by and watched. Harper glanced up at them with a little annoyance, but he supposed he couldn’t blame them for hovering. They were just as much friends with Julia as he was, and Charlie had seemed a little sweet on her sometimes, though he hid it well. Just like Harper, they wanted to help her but really
didn’t know how. So they just stood idly by while Kensey worked.

  While Kensey prepped an IV line, Julia glared up at the bright sky and seemed to find some use for her arms. She held them up above her, shading her face from the sun. It was cold, but the sun still managed to be cloyingly bright. Her arm wavered unsteadily in the air above her. Her eyes lolled about but then managed to anchor on Harper.

  “Where the fuck are we?” she mumbled.

  Harper smiled. “There we are. Not awake for two seconds and you’re dropping f-bombs. I expect no less.” He squatted down at her side. “We’re on the way back, but we stopped here. It’s just some sort of farm or something. Grain farm.”

  She cleared her throat with some effort. “Why are we stopped?”

  Kensey pulled the sleeve of her jacket up to expose her arm and started swabbing the skin with an iodine patch, staining her pale skin a dark yellow. “I think you’re pretty dehydrated. Have you had to pee since you broke your leg?”

  Julia closed her eyes tight, then opened them again, as though she were trying to clear her vision. “Um… I dunno.”

  “I’m hooking you to an IV right now. Get some fluids in you.”

  “Okay.” She nodded and watched him stick the needle in without blinking. She was a nurse, after all, Harper remembered. He didn’t suppose there were very many nurses that were uncomfortable with needles. Kensey had to poke around some, but Julia just stayed still until she watched the tip of the catheter fill with blood. Then she relaxed.

  Once he had the catheter in, he hung the bag from the antenna on the back of the Humvee, connected the lines, and then set the drip. When he was finished, he knelt down beside her, stripping his latex gloves off and tossing them to the side.

  “How you feeling?” he asked.

  Harper could see the discomfort on Julia’s face, the edge of pain just barely dulled by the vestiges of the painkiller rolling through her blood stream. But she put on a haggard smile that came and went on her face like the brief sighting of a rare bird.