“Peanut butter brownies?” Sam’s eyebrows shot up.
“Best in the world. She’s not used to cooking on top of a wood stove though, and the first batch she tried turn into carbon. Although I do say that the smell of burnt peanut butter is much preferable to the atrocious fumes given off by that unholy concoction that Buck makes.”
Michelle shot to her feet, “WHO?”
“Um . . . I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?”
“What did you say?” Michelle repeated as she advanced toward Leonard.
Leonard looked at the wild-eyed grin on Michelle’s face as she approached. “Um . . . I said that the smell of . . . burning peanut butter . . . was, um . . .”
Walter cut in, “We had an older couple show up here a few days ago, apparently on yours and Andy’s suggestion. Buck and Fredrica—you do know ‘em, right?”
“Oh yeah!” Michelle beamed ear to ear as an involuntary shiver shook her body in anticipation of another round of Bucky’s frying pan coffee.
“Well,” Walter chuckled, “I guess that’s a good thing then. Anybody got anything else to say before we go?”
In response to Walter’s question, the radio crackled to life.
“Hey this is Scott up on the roof, can anybody hear me?”
Walter keyed his button and replied, “I read you Scott, this is Walter, go ahead.”
“I can see somebody walking along the edge of the road . . . maybe two people . . . they’re coming from the direction of the campground.”
“Amy, did you get that?”
“10-4 Walter, Scott has one, possibly two figures approaching down the road from the campground. I’m making sure the doors are locked.”
“Amy, keep everybody as quiet as you can in there. Scott, we’re on the way. Don’t do anything until we get there. Alton, did you copy of all of that?”
There was no reply.
Walter waited another ten seconds, and then keyed the transmit button again. “Alton, this is Walter, can you hear me?”
Dead silence filled the room.
Chapter 11
The small group left Walter’s tractor shed and headed down the path toward the house. Eric, Michelle, and Max brought up the rear. When they reached the top of Walter’s driveway, Sam stopped them.
“How do you want to do this?”
“We need lights, guns, and radios. I suggest two ‘two-man’ teams. How about Michelle and I . . . and Max on one. Sam, are you up to going?”
“Might as well. I’ll take Thompson again, as a much trouble as he’s been, at least he hasn’t shot me . . . yet.”
Thompson’s echo of the word ‘yet’ coincided with Sam’s, and they both laughed.
Walter handed his radio to Thompson, then trotted into the house and brought back three more.
“Batteries are all charged, and I’ve got another one up here. Keep me informed, and let me know what you find. Once we get this all squared away, a few more of us will come down to the store and talk to the folks with you.”
“Who’s got a flashlight with them?” Eric asked.
Thompson and Michelle both raised their hands. Walter reached into his pocket and pulled out another one, handing it to Sam. “It’s set to bright . . . just click the button once and it’ll come on.”
Eric looked around at their little group, stopping at Mike, Dave, and Walter. “You’re our backup, so stay alert and be ready. You might even want to have a vehicle started and ready to go. Max, get in the truck.”
Max trotted around and vaulted into the bed of the pickup as Eric unlocked the door. Turning to Michelle he said, “Do you know where this Alton guy is supposed to be?”
“Yes.”
Eric keyed his radio, “Scott, this is Eric, what’s your situation right now?”
After a brief pause the radio crackled to life and Scott’s whispered voice came through, “Eric, hey man, it’s Scott. Glad to see you’re up and around.” The radio cut off momentarily, and then came back on as Scott transmitted. “OK, I can still see the two guys, at least I think they’re guys, out near the road. One of them looks like he’s kneeling in the weeds at the edge, like where it starts to slope down toward the lake. It’s hard to see though, and I didn’t want to turn on my flashlight unless they came closer.”
“How far away are they from you?”
“Um . . . about 270 feet.”
Eric squinted at the radio, and then turned his head towards Sam and Thompson. “That’s kind of an odd number to say. Not 250 . . . or 300 . . .”
Dave chuckled and said, “Remember who you’re talking to, and what he does with ninety-nine percent of his life.”
Eric’s tired, blank stare went on for the space of three heartbeats before Dave queued him in, “Baseball. That’s what he lives and breathes. Right now he’s playing on his college team . . . remember?”
“I do now, but what’s that got to do . . .”
Thompson snorted and cut him off, “I got it. It’s the distance if you run, say, from home plate all the way around until you get to third base. There’s ninety feet between each base.”
Eric let out a slow breath and did the mental arithmetic. “OK, got it now.”
Raising the radio to his lips again, he replied, “Scott, have you seen any other movement?”
“No . . . it’s hard enough to see down the road without a light. I mean, not that I’m slacking on the job, but man, a herd of elephants could have walked by and I might not have seen them.”
“Just do the best you can.”
Eric turned to Michelle, “You ready?”
She nodded.
Turning back towards Sam, he said, “What vehicle are you driving?”
“Figured we’d take Walter’s Mule.”
Eric glanced at the small utility vehicle, and then back at Sam. “Why don’t you take something else . . . maybe something with doors and windows. At least that’ll give you some protection.”
“Here,” Walter handed over some keys, “take my truck. Is everybody armed?”
They nodded.
“OK,” Sam jingled the key ring, “let’s do this.”
They hopped into their vehicles and started them up, and then maneuvered around the other cars and trucks that were crowded into the wide area at the top of the driveway.
“Scott, we’re heading down your way right now, any change?”
“I don’t know, it looks almost like, well, like they changed positions or something. Maybe not, it’s hard to tell. They both hunkered down at the edge of the road a second ago—I mean at the same time as each other. I think they’re looking for something maybe.”
“I want you to tell us about any changes that you see as we come down. Any movement, any change . . . anything.”
“Got it.”
“Be careful guys,” Amy’s voice came over the radio.
“Sam . . . what do you think, should we run with the headlights on or not?”
“I can probably see good enough to follow your truck, but don’t forget we have a long, dark stretch of driveway that runs beside the lake, and at the end of that driveway is the gate where our guard is not answering.”
“Good point . . . Scott, our headlights are going to be visible from a mile away as we’re coming down the driveway. Let us know if there’s any reaction from the road.”
“Got it.”
Eric reached behind him and opened the sliding partition window. Immediately Max’s giant black head poked through into the truck’s cab. Michelle gave a short, amused laugh.
“What?”
“I just had an idea of what to get you for Christmas,” she said.
“Yeah, what’s that?”
“I’m going to have a walnut trophy mounting board made—only this one will have a big circle cut out in the middle. You can bolt it to the back of the cab, so when Max sticks his head through, it’ll look like he’s hanging on the wall above the fireplace.”
Eric chuckled as he drove down the switchback, �
��That would be hilarious. And speaking of Max, you and I are going to have a conversation about how you managed to put him on a leash.”
“I imagine we should have a talk about several things.”
Michelle’s voice was light, but Eric picked up the subtle undertone of seriousness in her reply as well. A few seconds later, the high beams of his truck cut a wide arc across the lake as he made the sharp right turn at the bottom of the ‘S’ switchback.
“Yeah, we should talk. Soon. Keep a sharp eye out on your side, OK.” The resident butterflies in his stomach began their typical fluttering with the thought of talking, actually talking, to Michelle.
Michelle mumbled a swift ‘Mmmm-hmm’ as she drew her Glock—resting it in an easy, practiced grip on her lap. “I’ve been doing a bit . . . well . . . a lot . . . of thinking.”
“Me too. Come up with anything interesting?”
“Perhaps,” she replied, and then added a low, but firm, “we’ll see.”
“Hmmm,” Eric thought, “have an honest conversation with his best friend, who has been so close, and yet so far out of reach all of his life, or drive down into the darkness and risk a violent confrontation with people who were potentially infected with a deadly, homicidal rage-inducing zombie sickness.”
Zombies for the win, Alex.
Michelle cleared her throat, and then keyed her radio. “Scott, it’s Michelle. Any change?”
“I can’t really tell. I can still see a figure moving a bit at the edge of the road. I think that his partner is in the weeds just below him, but it’s so dark I can’t really tell. Do you want me to light them up with the spotlight?”
Walter’s voice came across the radios, “Hey Eric, I forgot to mention to ya’ that they got a big spotlight up there with ‘em on the roof. It’s one of those bazillion candlepower rechargeable jobbies. The battery won’t last but about twenty minutes or so before it gets sucked dry, but it’ll shine from here to Mars while it’s runnin.’”
“OK, thanks Walter . . . Scott, hold up on the light for a minute.” Turning to Michelle, he said, “We should have two people, at the minimum, up on that roof. There’s no way he’d be able to hold a spotlight and provide accurate fire at the same time. Do you know what kind of weapon he has?”
She shook her head.
He grabbed his radio, touching the brakes and slowing down to a crawl as he did, “Walter . . . or Sam . . . what kind of weapon is up on the roof with Scott?”
“I’ve got one of those black machine guns,” Scott answered proudly.
“It’s not a ‘machine gun,’” Walter’s dry voice came through, “Eric, he’s got an AR up there with him.”
“Ammo?”
“It’s got a total of four 30 round magazines.”
Eric tapped the brake again, this time stopping. He closed his eyes for a moment, envisioning the marina and its surroundings where he’d spent so much time fishing, boating, and as it turns out, being crushed upon by Jules’ friends. After another moment’s contemplation, he keyed the radio, “Scott, how much experienced do you have firing that kind of weapon? No bullshit either, I need to know for real.”
“I have a buddy back in college that has one. He let me shoot it a couple times.”
“Do you know how to reload it, and what to do to clear a jam if it locks up?”
“I can eject the empty magazine and put a new one in . . . no problem, but I’ve never had to un-jam one.”
“I think I know what you’re thinking,” Sam’s voice came across.
“Hold that thought for a moment, Sam.”
Eric paused again—lost in concentration with the radio still held close to his lips. Max’s heavy tongue made several rough textured passes across the back of his hand before withdrawing into the cavernous depths of his mouth. He shifted the radio into his left hand, and then reached around and scratched the immense, fuzzy head that was now puffing out a locomotive’s worth of dog breath every few seconds.
“Walter, how are they getting up and down from the roof?”
“We’re using an extension ladder. It’s on the back side where I used to have the stack of pallets.”
“Is it set up right now, or pulled up on the roof?”
“Should be up and ready to climb.”
Eric turned and looked at Michelle in the pale blue light emanating from the dashboard. “Do you want the job?”
The faint illumination was enough to see an abrupt shift in her countenance. She stared at him for a long ‘three count’ before replying, “This is one of the things that we’re going to talk about.” The tiny sparkle of reflected dashboard light glowed in the centers of Michelle’s unblinking eyes as her words settled between them.
“If you truly think that I’m the best person available for that job, I’d be on that roof in a heartbeat. If you’re just trying to protect me, well, you better take another look at who you think I am.”
Her words came out rigid, intense, and honest. And yet, accompanying them was another undercurrent. Eric matched her eyes for a moment; a trail of thoughts forming as he reexamined his perception of her words . . . her tone. The endless battle between what was said, and what was left unsaid.
Still locked with her eyes, he reached over and put his hand on top of her knee, squeezing gently. Almost immediately she placed hers on top of his.
“I’m sorry, I just . . . it’s just . . .” He stopped—hesitation locked in combat with opportunity.
“What?” Her response was much softer this time.
After another pause, Eric lightly shook her knee and said, “Just tell me one thing—from you, from ‘Michelle’—where would you want me to be?”
Her eyes swung away, and she turned to look out the passenger window. Her hand stayed on top of Eric’s, though. He counted two breaths before she spoke.
“You’re the best shooter that I know—that I’ve ever seen. I watched the tapes that you sent of your 3-gun matches. You’re pretty amazing.” She hesitated for a second before continuing, “I’m hoping that this is just two guys, normal guys, up on the road. But if it’s not, then I’d want you down on the ground.” Turning to face him once more, she looked deep into his eyes and said, “But the honest truth is that I’d want you on the roof too.”
Guarded silence filled the truck as they both tested the waters. Michelle was the first to speak a moment later.
“Eric, there’s something else, something that you need to know right now.”
The ice ball of dread that signaled rapidly approaching letdown formed in his throat. A boyfriend? Not the right time? End stage cancer? Already remarried? His heart spit out those—and a million more possibilities—as he waited.
“What is it?”
“The back of your hand is really slimy with Max’s drool.”
The stunned look on his face held him there long enough for Michelle to lean over and give him a quick kiss. It wasn’t on the cheek.
“You know our headlights are shining right into your truck, don’t you?” It was Sam.
Michelle giggled as Eric pulled away from her. “Ah, 10-4 Sam, I was just helping her find a contact she dropped.”
“Amazing what people can do with their lips these days.” Thompson’s voice could be heard hooting in the background.
Eric let another few moments pass by before he transmitted, “Sam, I’m thinking that we need another shooter on the roof. Maybe even two. What type of artillery are you and Thompson carrying?”
“Shotgun for me, and Thompson has his M4, selective fire version, and a full load out of ammo.”
“I could get up on the roof and run the spotlight if needed,” Amy’s voice came across the radio.
“Negative. I don’t want anybody to risk going outside until we know what’s happening. Keep everybody inside the store.”
“Will do.”
“Eric, Walter here . . . I’ve got about five people up here who are all raising their hand to volunteer if you need ‘em.”
“OK tha
nks, I’ll let you know. For right now, just keep them on standby.”
“Roger.”
“Sam, let’s get moving again. I’d like to have both you and Thompson upon the roof watching our backs, if you’re willing.”
“That’ll be fine, but let’s see what we find at the gate first, OK?”
Fade to Grey (Book 2): Darkness Ascending Page 12