Walter scowled deeply as he looked past the raised bucket on the Kubota. Still visible was the top six inches of his submerged pickup.
Sam hopped in behind the wheel of the Explorer, and Michelle and Eric took their positions in the second seat. Thirty seconds later, they had maneuvered out of the marina and turned east on highway 704, accelerating toward Ravenwood campground.
Chapter 30
“Mike, what’s your position?”
“We’re about a half mile offshore. Callie is trying to get a better view through the binoculars, but this chop is making it difficult.”
“Can she see any details?”
“We’re going to have to get closer. All we can tell from here is that it’s a fair sized boat—maybe thirty feet long. It looks like it’s beached around the cove from the campground’s pier.”
“Keep us posted, but observe only for now. Stay with the plan.”
“Roger that. We’ll swing by for a closer look on our way to the campground, but eyes only for now.”
“10-4.”
“Walter, did you copy that?”
“Yeah. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Yup. That could be the mysterious ‘boat on its side’ that Amy thought she heard from on the walkie-talkie. For now though, we need to focus on our main objective. We’ll keep that one as a target of opportunity.”
“10-4.”
“How far are we from the campground itself?” Sam asked as he eyed the road in front of him.
“Just around that little bend up there.”
“Are you sure this is the plan you want to go with?”
“I think it’s our best option,” Eric replied.
Michelle nudged his ankle with the side of her foot. “Be safe.”
“Be ready.” With that, Eric opened the door and slid out on to the dew dampened pavement of Ravenwood Campground Road. He closed the door as silently as possible, and then with a half smile and wink, stepped off the blacktop and into the forest.
“That’s good camouflage for this time of year,” Sam noted as Eric’s brown and tan leaf patterned form seem to disappear almost immediately.
“Walter sells a lot of it to duck hunters.”
“I wish we were hunting ducks right about now.”
“Me too.”
A few minutes of silence passed before Eric’s voice came over the radio. “The woods here are not as thick as I’d like, but so far—so good.”
Sam rotated his head across the limited horizon, searching every tree, rock, and clump of weeds in view. “You and Eric go back a ways, right?”
“Since we were kids.”
“You worried?”
“Aren’t you,” she replied almost immediately as she scanned the road behind them.
“The word on the street is that he’s a pretty handy fellow to have around in the woods.”
“Yeah, but we’re not talking about sneaking up on some hunters who’ve exceeded their bag limit on pheasants.”
“The principle is still the same . . . and did you catch a glimpse of that boy reloading the shotgun this morning. Holy crap, talk about fast.”
“If he has to reload without us there for backup, well then, our plan has suffered an epic failure.”
“I hear that.”
A single brown leaf—curled, cracked and weathered, yet still somehow tenaciously clinging to the drooping oak branch—wavered in the slight breeze. Thousands, probably millions, of its decomposed brothers and sisters cushioned Eric’s footfalls as he stalked through the late morning woodland. To his right, the distant, occasional tapping of a lazy woodpecker echoed through the stillness. Recent signs of passage indicated that several deer had traveled a similar route that Eric now walked. Another forty feet, and he’d be in position to get his first real look at the campground. The flutter of wings in the branches overhead triggered a momentary freeze, and he closed his eyes and focused his other senses. Inside, his gut was telling him that something was wrong, and the lack of typical noises from the morning forest seemed to intensify that feeling. He opened his eyes and ghosted forward, crouching as he broke free from the stunted tree cover. A drop to his belly followed, and Eric wormed his way to the side of the large slab of rock that thrust upwards from the beaten down weeds next to the road. The opposite side of the semi-natural monolith was carved with fifteen inch tall lettering that thanked campers for visiting Ravenwood. Each letter, as well as a cartoonish picture of a perched bird, had been shadow washed in black paint to help it stand out. Reaching into one of the large cargo pockets of his camouflage pants, Eric drew out a pair of compact binoculars.
“OK, I’m in the first position by the rock sign. Give me a minute to look around.” He took his time and swept the entire area that he could see—cursory at first, and then a return sweep much slower and more detailed.
“Do all stations copy?”
Mike and Callie, Sam and Michelle, and Walter all checked in.
“OK, like I said, I’m by the Ravenwood ‘goodbye’ sign. From here I can see the upper side of the campground. Everything from the soccer field and water pump room, down to the little check-in kiosk, and past that to the campground office. I can also see the first few slots on Golden Eagle Loop. I have zero, repeat . . . zero movement. I can see several abandoned vehicles, or at least ones that look like they were parked in a hurry.”
He zoomed the binoculars to maximum magnification. “Walter, is Doc awake and handy—Amy too?”
Walters’s voice came through the headset clear and crisp. “Everybody’s here and listening.”
“Didn’t they say that when everybody was leaving the campground, some of the men were shooting at the walkers?”
Doc’s voice came back in reply. “Yes, that’s correct . . . why?”
“Do you know if they hit anything?”
“I can’t give you an exact count since we were preoccupied trying to get into the RVs at the time, but I am sure that several of the infected went down.”
Mike broke in, “I know that at least two of the ghouls went down permanently. I don’t know who was shooting, but I saw two head shots.”
“Can you give me a general idea of where that happened?”
“Straight out in front of the office, next to the pull-off where they empty the wastewater. Why?”
He hesitated before answering as he focused on the location Mike was describing. When he was sure, he answered. “We have no bodies . . . anywhere. At least none that I can see from here.”
Eric studied the scene in front of him for a third time. There was still no movement that he could detect. “Sam, I’ve got my eyes on the campground. Go ahead and move the truck up to the bend.”
His vision through the binoculars remained unchanged as the Explorer moved closer. “In position,” Michelle said.
“Glass the area . . . make sure that I’m not missing anything.”
A short time later the reply came. “Mike says that it looks the same as he can remember, minus the bodies.”
“Keep watching. I’m heading to position two.”
Eric retraced his path back into the forest, and then shifted to the left, cautiously following the deer trail for another seventy yards before it split off where the woods ended at the corner of the athletic field. There was no large stone to hide behind here, so he belly crawled through the light brush until he reached the point of transition between weeds and grass. Grabbing the binoculars again, he scrutinized the area from left to right, and then back again.
“Echo Romeo Indigo Charlie is at position two.”
“Sierra Alpha Mama copies.” The reply was accompanied by several low chuckles.
“You two characters are a pair of Alpha Sierra Sierra—holes.” Walter sounded serious, but the amusement in the background that carried through didn’t match his tone.
“Alright,” Eric began, “like I said, I’m in position two. I no longer have line of sight on the Explorer, but I can see the top of Blue Heron Loop fr
om here. It looks like a couple of tents are down, but I still have zero movement and zero bodies.”
“Do you want us to come any closer with the truck?”
“Negative. That’s as far as you go until we move to phase two. Callie, do you and Mike copy?”
“Everything is loud and clear. Are you ready for the horn?”
“Count to thirty—slowly—and then let it fly for a solid five seconds.”
“10-4.”
Eric steadied his breathing as he dialed back the magnification on the binoculars, giving him a wide angle view of the campground. Above him, the hazy overcast clouds began to separate, and for a brief sliver of time, sunlight poured through.
“BRRRAAAAAAAHHHH.”
The sound of the ski boat’s PA horn drifted up to his ears, and he searched the campground for movement. Again, he came up empty.
“Hit it again, only this time give it several blasts.” In short order, a series of beeps, toots, and bleeps sounded from the 300 watt, twin bullhorn system that Walter had MacGyver’d on to the bow of the dark gray vessel.
Nothing happened.
A brief tickle of unease pulled again at Eric’s stomach as he scanned the campground. “I’ve still got nothing.”
“Same here,” Michelle replied.
He dropped the binoculars and studied the area without magnification. That little irritating scratch in his gut hadn’t gone away, but it hadn’t intensified, either. “Mike, what’s your position?”
“We’re holding about 150 yards off the fishing pier.”
“Have you seen any movement?”
“Negative.”
The fishing pier that jutted out from the bottom of Blue Heron Loop was their planned exit point—by water anyway—for any survivors they found. It was a recent construction, barely three years old, and had been anchored with concrete posts. On top of the posts was a latticework of engineered boards made up of recycled materials. The customary ‘chain and post’ railing kept accidental swimmers to a minimum. Except at the very end. A length of galvanized chain that spanned the eight foot width of the pier was attached at one end with a standard thumb operated bolt snap, similar to what you’d find at the end of a heavy duty dog chain. The small metal sign that warned campers to ‘keep this safety chain attached at all times’ normally had to be replaced several times during the summer. Once you unhooked the chain, a ladder descended the barely three foot drop to the water—a fact that hundreds of campers, fishermen, and even Eric could attest to. The beginnings of a smirk settled across his face as he thought back two summers ago. Her name was Jodi. She was a short blond girl with a loud voice and no modesty. She was also very drunk, very enthusiastic, and surprisingly agile for someone so intoxicated. He was ticketing her boyfriend for fishing without a license when she had come sprinting down the pier—shucking her clothing off while singing some ridiculous pop song. Her nimbleness had allowed her to vault several tackle boxes and fishing rods as she flung the last of her garments into the night air, but that temporary dexterity had ended when she dodged around her boyfriend’s halfhearted attempt to catch her and crashed into Eric—sending them both into the cold waters of the lake.
Eric allowed himself another moment of humorous recollection before getting back to business. “OK, do you see where that tree line comes down to a point on the east side of Blue Heron Loop?”
“Yeah, near the group camp area, right?”
“That’s the one. Be careful, but head toward the shore at the bottom of that field. That should give you a pretty good view of part of the road at the bottom of Blue Heron Loop, almost all of the group camp area, and maybe even a section of Golden Eagle Loop. Remember though; stay at least a hundred feet offshore. We’ll wait for your report, OK?”
“Got it.”
Eric settled in to wait as another shaft of sunlight pierced the cloud cover. He watched as the soccer field brightened momentarily before transforming again as the low hanging stratocumulus layer pushed back.
“OK, we’re here, but we’ve got no movement. There’s a car with its front wheels in the lake. All of the doors are hanging open and it doesn’t look like anybody is inside. I can see several more cars at the bottom of Blue Heron Loop, and it looks like a few of those are wrecked. I’ve got maybe twenty or thirty tents in the group camp area, but only four of them look like they’re still standing and in one piece. The rest are squashed or shredded. That’s about all I can really tell from here.”
“OK Mike, turn your boat so the speakers are facing the campground. Give us a few lines from your favorite movie to see if your voice will carry all the way up here.”
“My favorite movie?” Mike’s gruff voice came back questioningly, and Eric could almost picture him rubbing his goatee as he chewed over his options.
Ten seconds of silence floated through the campground before his headset crackled to life again.
“I can’t think of any movie lines.”
Michelle jumped into the conversation. “Just say something. Sing us a song—whatever.”
Another moment of stillness settled in the morning air before the PA sounded. Eric’s partial smile, still left over from the thought of the chesty skinny-dipper, burst into a full out grin. A duet, mostly Callie, but with occasional deep notes from Mike, reverberated through the campground. It was the theme song from the old television show Green Acres.
Choking down a laugh, he let them sing the entire jingle. Sam and Michelle’s amusement could be heard through the headset, but more importantly, the individual words of the song came through loud enough, and with sufficient clarity for them to move on to phase two.
“OK, we can hear that, so anybody else in the campground ought to be able to hear that as well. Callie, keep talking or singing for another minute. Mike and Sam, stay focused and keep looking.”
Her voice—especially considering the distance and equipment—sounded surprisingly pleasant, and Callie went through the chorus of a popular country song before dropping into a youthful rendition of the classic camp song, Herman the Worm. The whole time she sang, nothing moved in his field of vision.
“Does anybody have any movement?”
All replies came back negative.
“What are the odds,” Michelle speculated openly, “that everybody who was at the campground is already gone. I mean, we had to have taken down about twenty of the infected last night, and if you add that to the number of people who made it to the marina . . .” Her voice trailed off with that thought.
Doc Collins interrupted before Eric could speak. “I don’t think so, Michelle. If my ballpark math is correct, even if we assume that only half the people who made it out of Ravenwood ended up at the marina, that would still leave somewhere between, oh, I’d imagine about forty or fifty people unaccounted for.”
“All right people, the good news is that we haven’t had to fire a shot yet. The bad news is that we still don’t have any answers, and we’re not going to unless we kick it up a level. Everybody’s already in position, so Callie, start your announcements.”
Almost immediately, her amplified voice resonated through the late morning. “Attention campground residents. If you are able to make it to the fishing pier at the end of Blue Heron Loop, go there now. If you are unable to make it on your own, or if you’re trapped or hiding inside your vehicle, tent, or RV, please find a way to signal the approaching rescue vehicle. Wave a flag out the window when they come by, and then exit your shelter and hop in the trailer. Do not attempt to enter the rescue vehicle directly.”
Her speech, written the night before at the meeting, was repeated several times.
“Sam and Michelle, you’re up. Be careful.”
In the Explorer, Michelle reached a hand forward and thumped Sam on the shoulder. “Drive safe.
“Shoot straight.”
Michelle spun and craned her neck toward the roof of the SUV. One of the reasons she had chosen the dark blue Ford was because it had a huge, powered sunroof. She slid the
fabric covered light shield to the rear, and then toggled the switch. A mechanical hum issued as the glass slid back, leaving a three foot square hole in the roof above the second seat. A rope with a speed clip was attached to her belt. The other end had already been fastened to the seat frame. It gave her just enough room to stand through the opening and maneuver. Any crazy driving or evading that Sam had to carry out shouldn’t toss her from the vehicle. Shouldn’t . . . she reminded herself. With her AR-15 leading the way, she stood and braced herself as Sam dropped the truck in gear and idled forward.
The Explorer crept into Eric’s vision a moment later. Michelle’s lean body protruded through the sunroof as she searched for targets through the reflex sight of her rifle. The sight, Eric knew from experience, looked similar to a miniature, one inch wide, flat screen television, and had user selectable options for displaying targeting reticles. Michelle kept hers on the bright red chevron, essentially an upside down letter ‘V.’ It was a ‘fast acquire, fast fire’ sighting system that allowed the shooter to keep both eyes open as they fired. Eric had a similar system on his competition pistol. Sadly, that was still back at his house. On top of that, his duty pistol—the one that he trusted his life to every day on the job—was in the safe at uncle Andy’s cabin. The Delta at his hip was reassuring though. So was the M2 in his hands.
Fade to Grey (Book 2): Darkness Ascending Page 29