Fade to Grey (Book 2): Darkness Ascending

by Brian Stewart

  Several chuckles rebounded through the room as Walter sat.

  “OK,” Eric stood, “let’s figure out how we’re going to take a run at Ravenwood.”

  Bernice got up. “I’m off to bed.” Her announcement was followed by similar ones from Rebecca and Fred. Bucky also moved off the couch and nodded to the rest of them as he refilled his mug from the pot of battery acid. “I got a lot of sleep today, so I’ll be on watch for the rest of the night. Let me know if there’s anything else I can help with.”

  The large coffee table in front of the couch was cleared of cups, and Walter unfolded a USGS map of the surroundings. Pointing a calloused fingertip toward a chunk of green shaded woodland, he said, “I agree with Eric. This needs to be a small, surgical attempt. The problem is going to be this,” his finger tapped a black line that threaded through the green, “there’s only one way into, or out of, Ravenwood. If the team gets cornered or cut off, there’s no escape.”

  “No,” Eric shook his head as the wheels began to turn, “that’s incorrect.” He wormed his way closer to the map. “Think ‘outside of the box.’”

  Several sets of tired eyes looked his way.

  “Ravenwood campground has about a million ways to get in . . . or out of.” He dropped his hand to the map and ran a finger around the swath of blue surrounding the site. “All we need is a boat.” Turning to Walter, Eric raised his eyebrows, “Know anybody that owns a marina?”

  Chapter 26

  Eric watched as Walter folded up the map and yawned. A glance at the clock on the wall showed a little past midnight, and he still had several things to accomplish before he slept. Everybody else except Michelle had just turned in, and he watched as she stood and stretched. It was like watching a tall willow bend with the breeze, and her flexibility made him grimace. And smile. Putting that thought out of his head for now, he took a deep breath and pulled himself out of the recliner.

  The metal door that had been shut during the meeting now hung partway open as Doc finished checking his patients. A moment later it pivoted on oiled hinges and he appeared, making several notations on a clipboard held in the crook of his arm.

  Doc looked up at Eric, “No change with Andy . . . which could be good news,” he added almost immediately. “My granddaughter is awake. She asked about you. Don’t keep her up too long.” Without waiting for a reply, Doc ascended the stairs.

  Taking a deep breath, exhaling, and repeating the procedure several times brought Eric some semblance of calm, and he stepped through the doorway. Michelle followed a pace behind.

  The cement floor of the garage was polished smooth, and the room still smelled faintly of bleach and antiseptic. The antiseptic aroma reminded him of freshly peeled band aids mixed with the unforgettable tang of every high school nurse’s office or athletic training room. Sheets had been draped over some type of frame, dividing one half of the garage into two separate medical areas. Moving to the closest improvised ‘room,’ he slid the sheet aside and stepped in. The figure that lay still and unmoving beyond was his uncle. A heavy wrapping of gauze encircled Andy’s head, completely covering the right side of his face down to, and including, his ear. Moving to the bedside, Eric took his uncle’s leathery hand in his own. He could sense Michelle standing behind him as he spoke.

  “Hey old man, I thought you said I’d never catch you lying down on the job.”

  Steady breathing was the only response.

  “Don’t worry, we’ve got everything under control, and all you need to do,” he squeezed his uncle’s hand, “is to concentrate on getting better.”

  The calloused hand of the person that had been the most influential male role model in Eric’s life gave no indication that his words had gotten through.

  He felt Michelle’s arm slide around his waist and pull close. “Eric, I’m so sorry. I should have been more aware. It’s my fault that they got the drop on us. It’s my fault that Andy got shot.”

  “I don’t believe that for a second. There was nothing you could’ve done. Nothing he could have done. It was bad freakin’ luck.”

  Michelle said nothing, and Eric wrapped both arms around her, squeezing gently as he whispered, “It’s not your fault.”

  They stayed in that position, trading hugs and reassurance for several minutes. Finally, Michelle pulled away and managed a weak smile. “Let’s go see Emily.”

  They closed the curtain to Andy’s section and walked over to Emily’s area. The sheets that had been hung were embroidered with sporadic butterflies, and Eric cleared his throat before sliding them aside.

  “Emily, it’s Eric and Michelle—are you awake?”

  “Hey,” the weak voice sounded from beyond the curtain, “come on in.”

  He pushed past the divider and walked over to her bedside. Michelle came through but stayed by the sheet wall.

  “How are you feeling?”

  Emily’s dark eyes focused on Eric momentarily before closing briefly.

  “Tired,” she mumbled behind still closed eyes.

  “Doc . . . I mean your grandfather, says that you’re going to be fine. You’ve lost a lot of blood, but he patched you up pretty good.”

  Her eyes fluttered open, and from beneath the bed sheet a delicate hand appeared. Eric stepped close and took the offering, almost fully enveloping her with his bear sized grip. She managed a smile, and then took a shallow breath before speaking. “It still hurts if I breathe too deep. And . . . whatever grandpa gave me for the pain is still making my head fuzzy. But I guess that all things considered, I’m pretty lucky.”

  Eric smiled down at her and squeezed her hand. “Emily.” Her eyes blinked and refocused on him as he continued, “Thank you. You saved Michelle; you put your life on the line for all of us.” He nosed toward her bandaged shoulder. “You took a bullet for us, and I just wanted to say thank you.”

  She smiled and to squeeze his hand. “You owe me big time. Has it rained?”

  “Yes, I owe you big . . . um, what did you mean, ‘has it rained?’”

  The smile that broke across her face had its beginnings somewhere in dreamland, but her words were crystal clear. “You owe me,” she laughed momentarily before it turned to a wince. Through clenched teeth she continued, “Rain . . . has it rained since I’ve been here?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Get my camera.”

  “Emily, it’s a long way back up to where I found you. I may not be able to get to it for quite awhile.”

  “No you lunkhead, up on the bluff overlooking your uncle’s cabin. That camera.”

  It came rushing back to Eric, and he remembered that Emily had been looking through a camera’s long telephoto lens at the scene that had unfolded outside the cabin. Eric had taken off at a sprint, and when Emily caught up to him at the cabin, she wasn’t carrying the heavy camera.

  “Oh, that one.” He squeezed her hand again, “I’ll do what I can . . . as soon as I can.”

  “Good.” Her half closed eyes blinked twice, and then turned their gaze over his shoulder as Michelle moved up.

  The moments of silence that followed seemed—at least to Eric—to last somewhere in the vicinity of a few dozen millennia as the two ladies studied each other. Finally, Michelle stepped closer and took Emily’s hand from Eric.

  “You saved my life, Emily. I can never thank you enough.” She moved closer and brushed Emily’s shiny black hair off of her forehead. “You saved me from a terrible, terrible fate, at the risk of your own life, and I just wanted you to know . . . personally . . . how much that means to me.”

  “S’OK, you would have done the same thing,” Emily mumbled with a tired voice that matched her eyes. “Tell . . . Eric . . . to get my camera.”

  “I will,” Michelle answered as Emily closed her eyes.

  Eric stood up and rubbed his eyebrows in concentration. “I think I’m going to stop and see my uncle briefly on the way out. Then I’m going up to see Max one more time tonight. After that, I’m turning in.”

>   There was a folding chair leaning against the wall by Emily’s head, and Michelle stood and reached for it, pried it open, and plopped herself down. “I’m going to stay here for a little while, OK?”

  He managed a weak smile, but nodded as he left.

  His uncle showed no change, and Eric wished him a silent ‘goodnight, get well’ as he looked in. It was hard to believe that the person lying there, immobile, unconscious, and battling for survival, was the same person that he’d known all his life to be full of energy, attitude, and fire. But it was true. He bowed his head and said a quick prayer for healing before walking back through the fire door.

  “He’ll pull through, you wait and see.” It was Walter, seated on the couch with his feet crossed and propped up on the coffee table. Beside him sat a long rectangular box wrapped in a hodgepodge of paper grocery bags. He swatted the cushion next to him and indicated for Eric to sit.

  “Eric my boy, are you sure you want to do this . . . Ravenwood I mean?”

  “Want to . . . no. But I feel like it’s the right thing to do.”

  Walter said nothing as he studied Eric.

  “What’s in the box?” Eric pointed a finger at the Frankenstein wrapping job.

  “Your birthday present from your uncle.”

  “My birthday isn’t until October.”

  “I know, but this is something that Andy had me order several months ago. We weren’t sure how long it would take to get here.”

  Walter twisted and grabbed the box, and then set it on the table in front of Eric. A second, similarly wrapped, but much smaller package—this one removed from underneath the couch—soon joined it.

  “That one is from me and Bernice.”

  “Which one should I open first?”

  “Andy’s.”

  Eric popped the snap on the sheath of his Buck knife; the click immediately brought a flash memory of the last time he had done so at the cabin. It took a forceful battle against his will to dismiss the images that accompanied it.

  Shaking his head, he slid the razor sharp blade through the substantial layers of clear packing tape. Underneath was the unmistakable red and white logo of Benelli, a manufacturer of high quality weapons.

  His eyes widened his he revealed the full length of the carton. “Holy crap, this is an M2 shotgun.”

  Walter nodded, “And not just that. Your uncle special ordered it from their custom shop. Once it got here, we turned around and shipped it off to some folks down in Texas who modified it even further for high speed shooting at your 3 gun matches. It’s got a Nordic Component extended magazine tube and a bunch of other bells and whistles. Everything on it has been buffed and polished and tweaked so much so that you ought to be able to just sit in your truck and let the gun hop up to the line and shoot the course by itself.”

  The stunned look on Eric’s face accompanied the knowledge that he was holding about $3000.00 in his hands.

  “Open the other one,” Walter indicated.

  He set the shotgun box on the table and sliced open the other package. Inside were several unwrapped shotgun speed loaders, and an additional pair of factory magazines for his CZ 9mm.

  “I don’t know what to say. To either of you.”

  “Don’t say anything, just come back safe.”

  “Are you sure that you can spare the ammunition for our little raid?” Eric asked with raised eyebrows.

  Walter sighed, and then took a moment to tap out the ashes of his pipe into a ceramic bowl decorated with scantily clad mermaids. “Eric, you know that Andy and I have always been a little squirrelly when it comes to trusting others for our well being. You also know that the motto of ‘be prepared’ is something that we’ve put more than just a little amount of time, effort, and money in to. Your uncle has raised you well, and I know that you share a lot of our philosophies about being self sufficient, honorable, and Christian. I also know that you’re a young buck who probably doesn’t have the means, financially anyhow, to accumulate a sufficient amount of . . . ‘supplies’ for the future. Well, we have. Underneath Andy’s new outbuilding is a good size basement just about chock full of supplies. We figured on being able to support a dozen people for somewhere between three to five years, food wise, if something happened to our country, or economy. There’s also a metric shit-ton of ammunition, and the weapons to fire it. I don’t want to get into all of it right now, but let’s just say that Andy’s cabin was our destination if the turds ever hit the fan.”

  “Is this the part where you’re going to tell me that I was dumb for not saving all of my pre-64 quarters and nickels?”

  Walter chuckled, “Let me tell you something. There’s a lot of yah-who’s out there who have been putting their money into things like gold and silver, because they figured that if anything happened, it would be the only currency that would remain stable and valuable. I want you to think about what might be happening at thousands of places—maybe millions—across the world. There are people that, as far as we know, are probably huddled in some basement, or shelter, or attic . . . starving . . . dying of thirst. They might be surrounded by those gray things, or cut off from safety. Now which do you think they’d rather have right now, a bag of silver quarters, or some granola bars, water, and a box of shells for their pistol?”

  “How did you and my uncle afford this?”

  Walter smiled and shook his head. “Eric, your uncle retired as a full colonel from the Air Force. He was also a very shrewd man when it came to investing. I’ve got the marina, and although it may not look like it, I do pretty well for myself . . . at least now. When you put us both together, well, as Andy always said, ‘copper wire was invented when he and I found the same penny.’”

  Eric turned back to look at the matte black, parkerized finish on the shotgun. “Why did you give this to me now?”

  “Andy showed me some of the videos of you competing. We noticed that most of the guys who beat you are running this type of platform. Now of course, you’ll have to get used to the feel, but we’d both want you to have every advantage possible if you ever compete again, and of course, at Ravenwood. Now go get some sleep.” Walter eased up off the couch and headed towards the stairs.

  “Wait a minute. I want to ask you something.”

  Walter stopped with one foot on the bottom stair, but didn’t turn around.

  “Yeah?”

  “The first night when we all got together and played cards in your office . . .”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “After we were done, Michelle and I walked out to the parking lot.”

  “Yeah, I remember.”

  “When I was out there, through the window it look like my uncle handed you some money. Was it for this gun?”

  Still facing the stairs, Walter gave an amused snort before answering. “Eric, your uncle was many things in his life, and even though he was a ‘hard as nails, career military, north country redneck,’ there was something else that made up a large part of his soul.” He turned just enough to point a gnarled finger at the M2. “Andy was generous to a fault. When I fell on hard times with the marina about fifteen years ago, your uncle loaned me the money when none of the banks would. No interest, no fees, not even a timetable of when to pay it back. Just a handshake and a blank check. Through the years I’ve watched him give money to everything from homeless people to dog shelters. About the only thing he was ever uncompromising on was you. He didn’t want you to grow up with a silver spoon in your mouth. With you, he invested something much more important . . . his time.” Walter turned back upstairs and took another creaky step.

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  The footsteps stopped, and Walter’s voice, softer this time, drifted out of the stairway. “Your uncle handed me almost $5,000.00 in cash. It wasn’t for the gun—that had already been paid for. Andy just wanted to make sure that anybody who didn’t have money wouldn’t be turned away.”

  Eric listened as the footsteps receded up the stairwell.

  Th
e door to the basement opened and Michelle walked through. The look on her face was unreadable as she slid over and perched on the edge of the coffee table, facing Eric. She said nothing for a moment as her eyes searched deep into his. Finally, with a slight nod toward the garage, she said, “Emily is sleeping.”

  “That’s good.”

  “We talked a little bit.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” Eric gave a guarded, noncommittal reply.

  “Would you like some company when you go visit Max?”

  “Yeah, I’d like that.”

  “OK, let’s go.”

  Chapter 27

  They walked silently up the slope and past the chicken house, finally ending at the undersized cement pad that butted up against the side entrance. Eric fumbled momentarily as he tried to locate the correct key, but at last managed to open the lock. Max stood about ten feet away, off to the left of their improvised hay bale circle. He looked fine so far, and they entered the tractor shed, locking the door behind them.