“I wouldn’t advise it,” Sutton warned as the others jumped out to take his side, each of them holding their own weapons with the exception of Samantha.
Keppler looked down at the weapons propped against the bumper with a sneer, knowing blood and pain awaited him if he made a move to arm himself.
“You were supposed to keep watch,” Keppler angrily reprimanded the younger soldier who slowly jumped down from the box truck, a look of shame and disappointment crossing his face.
“Something tells me you were thinking of keeping my supplies all to yourselves and not telling the others in your unit,” Sutton deduced aloud, prompting the lieutenant to step forward, using his last ditch effort to assert himself.
“This is an abandoned vehicle,” Keppler said, walking rigidly as though he still controlled the situation. “It’s been commandeered by the United States Government for use as we see fit. If you try and take it back, you’re making a big fucking mistake.”
Sutton allowed the officer to draw a few steps closer before thrusting the butt of the weapon into the man’s stomach, sending him to one knee with a pained groan while the younger soldier stared in shock. Jillian doubted the man had ever seen anyone stand up to the military before, much less the lieutenant who displayed fearless demeanor in any situation. Sutton quickly removed the sidearm from Keppler’s right hip, handing it to Gracine.
“Stay the fuck down,” Sutton issued an order of his own. “You didn’t waste any fucking time running to my truck, did you?”
“You’re going to regret that,” Keppler said, drawing breaths in pained heaves from the blow to his stomach.
“Not as much as you’re going to regret sending us into a hazardous situation with no forewarning so you could steal my truck.”
“You seem to have made it out just fine,” Keppler said, attempting to stand at last.
Sutton put a hand on the lieutenant’s shoulder, pressing down with enough pressure to keep the man in a kneeling position. He wasn’t ready to let him up quite yet.
“You should probably collect yourself a moment.”
Sutton walked over to the truck, grabbing a bagged item just inside the open door, motioning for the younger soldier to stand beside the lieutenant. He hadn’t dared move after seeing Keppler floored by the M-16, but now he slowly walked over to the officer, holding his hands meekly just above his shoulders.
“Luke, get his sidearm,” Sutton requested.
Anxious to prove himself as an asset, Luke left Samantha beside Gracine while he walked up and removed the sidearm from the soldier’s side. He spent a few extra seconds working around the holster’s safety mechanism intended to prevent theft from terrorists and attackers, but he got the gun free. Holding on to the firearm personally, he returned to his position near Samantha, waiting to see what fate Sutton had in mind for the would-be thieves.
Removing two zip ties from the bag, Sutton forced both of the soldiers to lie with their stomachs on the ground at gunpoint. Jillian noticed Keppler seething with anger, but the lieutenant dared not rebel against Sutton because Sutton wasn’t the reasonable, kind-hearted man who dealt with him earlier. She wondered briefly what the commanding officer did as a day job before the apocalypse, because he seemed to be a bully of sorts without much concern for others when it came to supplies for his unit.
Sutton appeared to take some pleasure in disabling the soldiers and leaving them behind to the elements. He checked them over to make certain they had no additional knives or weapons on them before collecting their automatic rifles and placing them inside the box truck’s cab. Jillian grew concerned that more armed soldiers were likely on the way, because these two weren’t concerned about the sound of a vehicle approaching until they turned around. Sutton secured the back of the truck as best he could with no lock available.
No immediate danger threatened the soldiers as everyone climbed into the trucks and took one last look back at the restrained men.
“You’re going to regret this,” Keppler called as loud as he dared, trying to avoid summoning the undead his way.
Sutton, who had stepped halfway into the driver’s seat of the box truck, stopped to look back at the lieutenant.
“You were in the wrong,” he said. “Suck it up and stop harassing innocent civilians, or next time you might lose more than your guns.”
Keppler glared at him, saying nothing. Jillian saw the saga unfold from the driver’s seat of the truck she and Metzger had driven throughout most of Virginia. Now Vazquez sat beside her, looking anxious to get back on the road and leave the dangerous military sector behind them. Jillian felt certain Sutton was asking for trouble by antagonizing the soldiers further, and in Sutton’s mind she supposed he was trying to justify his actions and warn the soldiers about the dangers of pursuing the group.
About a mile down the road, Sutton stopped the box truck to hop out for an impromptu group meeting. Jillian wouldn’t have been shocked if he requested they go their separate ways now that Metzger had parted from their collective, but he stepped from the truck all business, perhaps even protective of those around him.
“I need to go back to my camp to see if my boys have checked in,” Sutton said without hesitation. “If you’re all willing to stick by me one last time, I’m willing to help you see if your families made it or not.”
Everyone appeared to breathe a sigh of relief that he didn’t say something smart or arrogant, finally showing indications he might be at least somewhat of a team player. Perhaps he knew other groups weren’t so amicable or willing to bend to his tantrums, so he’d be taking a risk by leaving them for other people, or striking out alone.
Being truthful, Jillian wanted him along because he knew how to use firearms proficiently, and Buster provided an element of security by detecting the undead. Sutton wasn’t remotely predictable, but he’d proven to be loyal, backing up his words and protecting the group, even when they didn’t know he was acting as their guardian.
She liked the idea of searching for her family with others along for support. Each day held no guarantees of safety, finding necessary items, or even survival, so Jillian planned on waking up each morning with a plan that might come to fruition or end in complete failure. She trusted the people around her, and though they might not have been the most skilled survival group, they didn’t scare easily.
Feeling the sat phone in her pocket, she knew the rest of the essential items she needed were in a small satchel beside her. All else could be left behind in an emergency, but if she ever wanted to hear from Metzger again, she needed that phone and the means to charge it. Looking around, she saw no one openly opposed to Sutton’s offer, and everyone seemed to be in agreement that they wanted to stick together.
“We’ve still got daylight,” Sutton said. “Let’s get moving before the dead start stalking us.”
Jillian took one last look at the crossroads behind them, wondering if she would see Metzger again, or if he would survive whatever the military had planned. She no longer believed the government possessed all of the answers. Surely they possessed inside information, some shared openly, some not so much, but they also harbored an agenda that quite possibly didn’t put the safety of civilians first and foremost.
She couldn’t focus on people who weren’t with her at the moment. Distractions got a person killed when the undead roamed nearby, so as the group broke from their huddle, she assumed the driver’s seat while Vazquez, still trying to heal from the recent gunshot wound, went around the truck. He knew she still had family in the area, and his sister might have been north in the nation’s capital, or safely tucked away with political figures. So much uncertainty existed without the benefits of the internet and cell phones.
“Once we check on Sutton’s boys, where do we go from there?” Vazquez asked, apparently questioning whose situation took priority.
“I guess we’ll go where the roads and the undead allow us,” Jillian answered. “We’ve got nothing but time at this point.”
&n
bsp; Twenty-Nine
Metzger felt like a basketball getting bounced all around the base, and still not seeing any proof his brother was even within the secure compound.
As the military vehicle crossed the base with a sense of urgency, Metzger looked to the south, hoping to catch a fleeting glance of his allies if they had lingered. They hadn’t, and for the first time since he arrived just outside of Buffalo he felt truly alone again. The idea of leaving the security of others, only to join his brother in some mission that would take them God only knew where, bothered him.
Being inside the base reminded him of the normal world for a moment. The military appeared to carry out their daily regiment with the same rigor as he imagined they did before the collapse of civilization. Soldiers walked with a purpose, carried out their orders, and showed no fear of the world just beyond their fences.
Any barriers between the base and the airfield were no longer guarded, and Metzger spied a transport plane at the closer end of the runway. Swallowing hard, he wasn’t sure he wanted to fly again after the Cessna crashed in a Virginia pumpkin field. Beside the plane he noticed half a dozen soldiers dressed in fatigues, and civilians whom he guessed were there to say goodbyes. He still didn’t see his brother, but he finally did recognize a few familiar faces slowly stepping back from the aircraft.
His sister-in-law and nephew.
A few seconds later the vehicle came to a stop and as Metzger squeezed out beside the four soldiers who escorted him, they each offered to shake hands with him. He quickly responded to each, and they wished him well, because his civilian status offered him no special treatment in the war against the undead.
“Take care,” he said to them as a group before walking toward some of the few family members left in his life.
Because their eyes never left the plane, Metzger caught Isabella and Nathan off-guard when he drew close enough to make them turn and look at him.
“Uncle Dan!” Nathan exclaimed with a wide smile, despite the tears welling up in his eyes from the idea of his father leaving the base on a mission.
Metzger dropped down to give his nephew an embrace while Isabella looked on with equal surprise.
Nathan inherited his father’s eyes and chin, but the red hair came entirely from his mother’s side of the family. Somewhere close to a month away from his tenth birthday, the boy seemed to grow six inches taller between Metzger’s visits. Metzger sometimes tried to envision his nephew as an adult, wondering which traits he might take from the family line, but now he struggled to imagine Nathan reaching adulthood with so much danger everywhere.
“Izzy,” he said when he stood, calling his sister-in-law by her nickname.
Her strawberry blonde hair normally reached her shoulders but she had it pinned up today, as though getting ready for battle herself. She wore blue jeans and a buttoned checkered shirt of tan and green coloration. The green accented her eyes of the same color, and Metzger wondered how his brother managed to marry up. She came from a family that did fine with their own precision metal shop that crafted objects for factories and the government. He had no idea how they fared in the apocalypse, but he recalled her brother and folks being rather rugged people who probably owned their share of weapons.
“Dan,” she replied warmly. “Glad you could make it.”
“Just barely,” he replied, glancing at the plane as a few of the soldiers began breaking away from their families. “Half of me is tempted to stay here with you guys, but I haven’t seen Bryce yet.”
Isabella drew a concerned expression.
“Keep him safe, and bring him back.”
“I’ll do my best, but I’m a novice compared to these guys.”
“He trusts you,” she said with an implication that Bryce wasn’t entirely sold on the military’s game plan. “He said you’d make it down here.”
“I wasn’t so sure for a while.”
Isabella looked concerned.
“They wanted him for his knowledge of the Buffalo area,” she admitted. “It’s also how he got them to bring you along.”
“We know it well,” Metzger said more confidently than he felt. “And I’ve been there very recently.”
“Your folks?” she inquired.
Metzger shook his head negatively. Further elaboration could wait until he made it back from the mission to Buffalo, if he survived.
“Your family?” he asked in return, kneeling to open his pack to retrieve an object from within.
“Last I knew, they were making a stand on their property,” Isabella replied. “My father was prepared for about anything, so I have little doubt they’re doing just fine.”
“That’s good to hear,” Metzger said, pulling out a gold-colored coin with an embossed train engine on the front, and a caboose on the flip side.
He handed the coin to Nathan, who looked at it with a puzzled expression.
“That belongs to Grandpa,” Metzger explained, careful to not use the past tense when referring to his father. “He received it for his service on the railroad. It’s one of the few things I have that belonged to him, so I want you to take care of it. Can you do that?”
Nathan nodded affirmatively, and Metzger recalled his father always taking a shine to his only grandchild, and vice versa.
“Good. Looks like I’d better get going.”
He quickly hugged Nathan again, and stood to pull Isabella in for a longer embrace so he could speak words only she would hear.
“I’ll bring Bryce back,” he promised. “You be careful. Things can go bad here as quickly as they can anywhere.”
“I’m aware,” she said as though having already assessed the hazards.
Isabella was intelligent and tough, far more independent than most officer wives, who enjoyed the privilege of the Navy hierarchy. She was a stronger person with Bryce around, but certainly didn’t need him to make every decision for her, or pamper her. Isabella would require mental fortitude for the dangers that accompanied the apocalypse, particularly where the scheming survivors were concerned.
Metzger finally pulled away from them, prepared to board the aircraft with the last of the soldiers who had finished their goodbyes and walked aboard with rigid posture. They appeared to have purpose in their steps, as though they still believed the mission they were undertaking held significance. Wondering what his brother thought about the military’s stance, Metzger decided to ask him in person.
“Bye,” he said to Isabella and Nathan before turning to walk up the open ramp where the soldiers had entered.
Upon entering the rear of the plane, he found two Humvees strapped down, obviously for use once the aircraft landed. The military spared no expense in their missions, deeming them worthy of whatever resources could be spared. An odor that he found similar to the industrial smell inside a factory reached his nose, either from the plane or the equipment stored within. Walking ahead, Metzger found seats on either side of the plane where soldiers checked or cleaned their weapons, inventoried their supplies, or talked about things other than the task at hand to preoccupy themselves from what lie ahead.
A few glanced his way, but they basically paid no attention to him as though he was entirely expected to tag along on the mission. He glanced at faces, not finding his brother among either row, counting roughly a dozen soldiers as he passed them, all wearing camouflage fatigues that contained various shades of tan and green. In cities that all began to look like sepia photos from the Old West, Metzger supposed no degree of urban concealment would be entirely effective.
He felt like a kid walking into school with generic versions of everything a student was supposed to have on the first day. These men carried automatic weapons, explosives, and body armor while he brought along a few handguns, two swords, and some trinkets from his previous life. Under no circumstances did he want these men to protect him, but he also felt rather impotent comparatively. Such firepower might prove effective against the living and the undead, but it also drew swarms of the undead. One simple bite
that drew blood was enough to infect a living person, and Metzger had seen how quickly an individual could be overtaken by several zombies.
Reaching the end of the line, Metzger began to wonder if his brother truly was on the plane when he spied a man up front talking to one of the pilots, going over some kind of checklist. He recognized the authoritative voice immediately, and studied Bryce, who also wore fatigues, appearing prepared to carry out his orders despite what Isabella stated.
Perhaps an inch taller than Metzger, Bryce was every bit as strong as his younger brother, and he knew multiple ways with which to defend himself. He kept his brown hair parted to one side, and appeared to have recently shaved, save the thick mustache he’d grown when he first became an officer in the Navy. Perhaps he wanted to separate himself from the younger enlisted men, or simply liked its appearance after he grew it in, but Bryce hadn’t shaved it off in years, and apparently wasn’t about to.
When he looked up from the list, the lieutenant commander looked stunned for a fleeting second. His grim countenance quickly transformed into a smile as he recognized his brother, excusing himself from the pilot before briskly walking over to give Metzger a stiff hug.
“I knew you’d make it,” Bryce said before letting his brother free from the grip.
“I cut it a little close.”
“Mom and Dad?” Bryce inquired with concern.
“No,” Metzger said, fighting back the sadness that pained the pit of his stomach. “I’ll tell you about it later.”
“Okay,” Bryce replied, openly disheartened, though not shocked, by the fact his parents hadn’t survived the end of the world. “I hope you’re ready for this, little brother.”
“What are we doing exactly?”
“We intend to find the son-of-a-bitch responsible for all of this and get some answers. And if I have my way, we’re going to cut off his dick and feed it to him.”
The Undead Chronicles_Book 1_Home and Back Again Page 44