by L. T. Ryan
Sean’s M4 brushed against his leg. It comforted him less than it had in the open fields and deserted back roads. Places where fewer people traveled. Sean lacked the confidence that he could stop, secure the weapon, and fire in time on the interstate.
Trust the women.
He’d done it for years with Kathy. He had to do it now.
They reached I-95. A massive pile up stood between them and their exit. It stretched from the jersey walled median to the shoulder, and extended into the grass.
Sean drove forward and stopped halfway.
He saw both an obstacle and opportunity. Of course, the opportunity wasn’t his.
Sean cut the engine and held up a finger to keep the women silenced. Marley leaned forward and sniffed at the air. His ears perked up, and his tail extended straight back.
After a moment, the ringing in Sean’s ears lessened. He strained to hear whispers or movement. His eyes adjusted to the dim light. He scanned the vehicles ahead in search of that familiar human shape. The only ones he saw were slumped over steering wheels.
Maybe another route existed. Sean fidgeted with the GPS in search of an alternate exit. There were plenty. But if they went backward, they would have to cross I-40 in a different location, leading to more on ramps and off ramps. More chances to be found. More time would be wasted.
He turned the key in the ignition and tapped the gas. The ATV lurched forward. He cut the wheel to the right and navigated over the shoulder into the grass. The space between the edge of the wreck and the tree line appeared to be wide enough.
“Everybody on alert,” he said.
He had a hunch someone waited on the other side. If so, there was no doubt they knew Sean approached.
He took his foot off the gas and the ATV slowed to a crawl. A few feet from the edge of the wreck, he realized there wasn’t enough room. But it was too late. The ATV scraped against the rear bumper of the minivan. The vehicle sat at an angle and forced them into a tree. Metal grated against metal on one side and wood on the other. The sound was louder than the engine.
He slammed his foot on the brake to prevent wedging themselves in any further. The minivan rocked and groaned. He shifted into reverse and eased the gas pedal down. The wheels spun in the dirt, but the ATV didn’t move.
Addison grabbed his shoulder. “I’ll get out.”
“No,” he said. “If anyone goes, it’s me. But let me try and get us out first.”
He alternated gears a few times, forward and reverse, rocking the ATV. As he did so, the mini-van shifted position and the ATV lurched forward. Sean stopped it and leaned out the side, looking backward.
“We can clear it,” he said. “Hang on tight in case.”
With his stare still directed to the side, he eased the ATV forward until they cleared the minivan.
“Dad!” Emma pounded on the dash.
Sean whipped his head around and saw three armed men standing on the other side of the wreck. Whether they’d been waiting or had been alerted by the sound of the engine didn’t matter. They were there now. Though Sean wondered why they hadn’t approached while the ATV had been trapped.
The man in the middle lifted his rifle.
Sean hit the gas and fought the wheel to keep the ATV under control as the wheels slipped in the grass.
The first man fired. The bullet slammed into the rear of the vehicle.
Behind Sean, Addison opened fire, ripping off a three-round burst and hitting the man on the left. The guy screamed out and dropped to one knee, clutching the thigh of his other leg.
The other two men opened fire, shooting as fast as they could reload.
By this point, Sean had pulled ahead of the men.
Their bullets ripped past, shredding through the trees and leaves. Slamming into the asphalt. A few hit the ATV.
Addison continued to return fire. Jenny joined her. When the shooting stopped, Sean looked back and saw they had taken another man out, and the remaining was straddling the jersey wall.
Sean slowed the ATV down. “Get him.”
Addison stood and lined up her shot. She fired four times, sending a dozen rounds at the guy. Sean couldn’t tell how many had hit, only that the man collapsed on the concrete barrier.
Addison remained standing for a few seconds before slumping into her seat. The smile on her face faded and her eyes glossed over as the weight of what she had done descended upon her.
“Hey,” Sean said. “You did what I told you to do. Their deaths fall on my conscience, not yours. Got it?”
Addison said nothing. She nodded slowly while looking past Sean.
There was nothing else he could say. He’d felt the same feelings as a young PJ, required to kill to survive a rescue mission. It didn’t get easier after that. He’d learned to compartmentalize, only allowing the pain to bubble to the surface when he was self-medicated enough to deal with it.
They continued forward to the exit ramp. Sean alternated his view from front to back, searching for shadows in the dusk. They’d opened fire. While the ATV didn’t seem to attract the afflicted, gunfire did.
The off ramp was a straight shot to the road. At the end Sean turned right. South. His plan was to ride parallel to I-40 until they were about twenty miles north of Wilmington. They’d have to cross the interstate again, but given the rural nature of that part of the state, he didn’t think it would be as tough a crossing as what they had encountered moments ago.
The first chance he had, Sean turned to the east to create some distance between them and the interstate, carrying them back into farmland and woods.
The winds had started to pick up and the first band of rain blew past. The storm lasted only a few minutes, but he knew it was a precursor of what was to come.
A good enough reason to find a place to rest. But not the only one.
Addison grabbed his shoulder and shook it. “Sean.”
He stopped in the middle of a country road and turned in his seat. “What?”
She flipped on a light and aimed it at Barbara.
“Holy Christ.” Sean climbed over the seat, pushing Marley on top of Addison and pulling at Barbara’s blood stained shirt. The bullet hole went clear through her chest. One of the shots had hit her in the back. Her comatose state had prevented her from crying out or giving some kind of notice.
He found a weak and thready pulse. Worse than it had been. Her respirations were shallow and uneven.
“We’ve got to get off the road.” He returned to his seat and studied the GPS for a second before deciding to take the next right on Richardson Bridge Road. There were a few unnamed arteries off it that might yield a suitable place to take shelter from the coming storm.
A few minutes later, he pulled onto a dirt road that looked promising. The rough road led through the woods and emptied into a clearing. Faint tracks led across the field. At the wood’s edge, he shined the ATV’s spotlight and saw a vehicle. Sean decided it was worth the risk to investigate. He floored the gas and tore across the field.
They stopped shy of the old truck. Close enough to see the gap between the trees on the other side of it. Grass and weeds had overrun the ground, but it was clearly a path. After a short jaunt over potholes and fallen limbs, they entered a clearing. A wood cabin sat in the middle of it.
Sean cut the ignition. They all remained seated, staring at the small house. Waiting for any sign of life to appear. Or death. The wind blew through the trees and spiraled around the clearing, cooling the sweat that coated Sean’s body.
A flash lit up the sky. Thunder followed a few seconds later. Another storm band approached, this one potentially stronger than the last.
They had to get inside.
Sean said, “I’m gonna go—”
Emma cut him off. “There.”
He followed her outstretched arm in time to see a curtain fall shut. He flipped on the spotlight and aimed it at the window. He knew it was the wrong move. Whoever was inside might have heard them approach, but in the darkness,
they might not have been able to locate the ATV. Sean had given them away.
The curtain parted again. A small face peered out at them for a second before disappearing behind the veil of fabric once more.
“It’s a little girl,” Jenny said.
“You three stay here with Barbara. I’m going to go check it out. You see anyone other than me, be prepared to fire if they are armed or disregard your warning. Got it?”
Addison and Jenny answered affirmatively. Emma stared at the window with a look of concern on her face. Sean squeezed her shoulder.
“It’s okay. I’ll be right back.”
She nodded and looked away, an attempt to hide her tears. Was it the thought of losing him? Or the fear that the child inside was one of the afflicted and might have to be dealt with?
Sean exited the ATV, taking the pistol from the console and leaving the M4 behind. The small cabin required as much flexibility as he could afford.
The front door was steps away. He avoided it, though, choosing to travel around the house. He switched his flashlight on to gather an idea of the terrain then moved to the rear of the cabin.
He came to a patch of disrupted ground. A mound of dirt about three feet across and six feet long.
A grave.
Unmistakable.
Sean continued past a rear door and reached the far corner of the house. Leaning around the edge, he switched on his flashlight again and cleared that portion of the house and yard.
Anyone inside likely focused their attention on the front where they would have heard the ATV.
So Sean decided to enter through the back.
The door was unlocked and opened without resistance. Sean stepped into a small kitchen with a heavy wooden table positioned in front of him. He walked past it into a living area where the front door was located. He turned back to the kitchen and pulled open the fridge.
A wave of spoiled milk and rotten meat washed past.
“Disgusting.” He forced the door shut and backed away, waving his arms to clear the odor from the air.
Turning, he spotted a door along the far wall, next to the hallway opening. It was cracked. Though he wasn’t sure, there appeared to be a short, dark mass hovering in whatever room hid behind the door.
Could be the little girl, he told himself. She ran from her room down the hallway and into the bathroom maybe. He took a few steps forward and stopped when the figure shifted.
“Hello?” he said. “We saw you in the window. We’re here to help you.”
Sean figured his pistol intimidated the child, so he tucked it in his waistband. As he extended his hands in front of him, the door whipped open and the figure shot forward.
It was no child.
Twenty-Two
Turk stepped out from the shadows of the fort and came face to face with a bearded man about the same height and at least fifty pounds heavier.
The guy’s mouth hung open and he stood motionless, both hands wrapped around a rifle. He muttered something incoherent. He looked as though he was in shock.
Turk whipped his right hand around and slammed his pistol into the side of the guy’s head. The blow was only half-effective because the man had managed to partially block Turk’s swing with the rifle.
But it was enough to drop the guy to a knee. And before he could say anything, Turk drove his foot into the man’s stomach. The guy bowed forward, letting go of the barrel and dropping a hand to the ground to support himself.
Turk reached into his left pocket and pulled out the steel wire. He swung hard and fast so the free handle wound around the guy’s thick neck. Turk secured the handle and yanked with enough force to pull the guy off his feet. With every passing second, Turk lifted the guy until his back bowed and the man’s feet were hovering over the ground.
The man fought back at first, whipping his fists and elbows, connecting a couple times. All in a losing effort. His body went limp.
Turk lowered him while keeping the garrote tight for another minute. He released one side and let the large body collapse to the ground.
Leaving the guy where he lay was a bad idea. Anyone patrolling the wall or stepping outside would see him and know they were under attack. So Turk dragged the corpse to the edge of the island, then rolled it into the water. The current would take over from there.
He staggered back to the shadows and fell back against the wall. His trembling hands could barely grasp the weapons they clung to. Why had the encounter left him so rattled? Fatigue? Something else?
He stared at the bobbing mass that had once been a survivor. Of all the things the guy had made it through the past few weeks, he died at the hands of an unseen enemy.
Turk had no doubt the man would have done the same to him if he’d gotten the drop.
Just like war. Nothing to feel bad about. This is what happens to those who prey on others.
After a few minutes of rest, Turk’s mental resolve returned. He forced himself off the wall, aware that someone might already be looking for the dead man. He doubted anyone left the relative safety of the fort without a reason. They probably had watch rotations. Everyone would be accounted for. They’d come looking soon.
Stepping out of the shadows, Turk felt exposed on the broad side of the island. The roaring Atlantic glared at him. White capped waves rose to the south. They pummeled the coast. Even the island was starting to take on a minor onslaught. The jetty did its job, stifling the waves, but only to a point. They were rising. If this storm hit head on, the island could end up underwater in the surge.
Turk moved quickly along the wall looking for the way in. Halfway down, he found it. A large wooden door stood open a foot, stiff against the relentless wind.
He stepped clear of the projected path of the door and jumped past the opening to the other side. A piece of wood that was wedged into the ground propped the door in place. Beyond the wall he saw a courtyard comprised of grass and concrete. It appeared empty. Turk’s gaze drifted to the far end where the space disappeared into shadows underneath the brick.
Anyone could be there watching.
He continued to scan the area. On the right, he saw rusted iron bars enclosing one opening. A place for prisoners. Perhaps that was where he’d find Rhea.
Rain spattered against the top of his head. It thudded against the ground and the brick wall like a turret. In a matter of seconds, it changed from a sprinkle to a downpour. The annoyance provided the perfect cover.
Time to move.
He checked the rifle he’d taken off the dead man. Four rounds. Enough, for now. He holstered his pistol in favor of the rifle since it offered greater accuracy from a distance. Once he moved in, he’d switch back.
He left the prop on the door and squeezed through the opening. A few steps into the fort, he slipped on the muddy ground and dropped to a knee. Pain shot up his thigh. Turk bit back a groan and got to his feet. The wall offered a sense of comfort. No one could be behind him. He could move forward without worrying about an ambush.
Turk stood fifty feet from the cell when three figures emerged from the center of the fort. They took a few steps into the rain. Each man instinctively lifted one hand over their brow to shield their eyes from the water. Turk dropped to the ground before any of them looked in his direction.
The storm muffled their voices. One of them pointed toward the gate. They all nodded, then moved forward, crossing the concrete then trudging through the muddy ground.
Turk assumed they were looking for the dead man.
He remained still and watched the men as they continued toward the exit gate. One of two things would happen. They’d either go through it, or lock it.
They stopped in front of the tall wooden door. Turned to one another. The guy in the middle had animated hands. His voice carried on the wind. Turk made out a few of the words. Enough to understand that the dead man had been gone too long.
After several seconds, the man kicked the prop. The wind slammed the gate shut. The guy turned and dipped his should
er and drove it into the wood, forcing the door open. One by one, the men filed through the opening. The gate slammed shut once again after the last one had passed through.
Turk had anywhere from seconds to minutes. If the men spotted the large body in the water, at least one would rush back. If they didn’t they’d circle the fort, maybe walk out on the pier, call out into the dark night and thrashing waves in search of their fellow survivor.
That would buy him five to ten extra minutes.
Turk dug his fingers into the mud and pushed off the ground. He dashed toward the relative stability of the concrete and then raced toward the cell. In the shadows he saw three or four figures on the ground. None stirred.
When he reached the rusted iron bars, he pulled the flashlight out of his pocket and shone it inside, sweeping across the cell. There were two older men on the floor. They were dirty and bloody and barely moved, despite the light shining in their eyes. Their limbs were deformed. Expressions were pained.
On a wooden bench along the back wall sat a woman. She was dirty. Dried blood coated her upper lip and trailed down to her chin. One eye looked bruised. She had dark hair and a pretty face and looked familiar.
“Rhea?”
She stared at Turk as though he was a ghost.
“Rhea?” he said again.
Her lips parted. She blinked a couple times, then shook her head slightly.
Turk shifted the rifle around to his back and began tugging on the bars, trying to locate the opening.
The woman pointed to his right. He followed her gaze and saw the chain tightly wrapped around a few of the bars. A lock threaded between two links.
“Are you Rhea?”
She crossed the cell, stepping over the living corpses on the floor, and stood in front of him. There was no doubt in his mind who she was.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“Name’s Turk. I’m a friend of the family.”
“They’re okay?”
“I just came from the house. They’re fine. I’m here to get you back to them.”
“It’s locked.”
Turk smiled, knowing the woman was breaking free from the shock that shackled her in the cell.