by L. T. Ryan
“Up ahead.” Jenny stood and pointed.
Addison tensed. Her right hand dropped from the steering wheel to the M40 at her side. She stared ahead, looking for that familiar shape that was now so alien.
“See it?” Jenny asked.
Addison slowed the ATV. With the screams they heard every few minutes, stopping was not an option.
“No, what?” Addison said.
“The guard wire comes to a break up there. Hard to tell, but there’s a gap there. We can cross.”
Addison dropped her foot on the gas and raced toward the spot. A minute later, they were on the other side of the interstate, looking for a suitable spot to exit. She figured as long as the highway was empty, they’d continue on. So they did, traveling four miles and exiting onto the first of a network of country and back roads that would lead them to Turk.
Thirty-One
“Turk.” Rhea slapped the water with her paddle. “What’s that?”
Turk escaped the trance he’d been in for the past half hour and looked away from shore. “What?”
She extended her paddle and pointed east. “Over there.”
The sun reflected off the shimmering water in a million bursts. Turk shielded his eyes with his blistered hand and squinted against the light. On the edge of the horizon, he saw it. Small, at least from where he sat, bobbing in the rolling waves.
“Is that a boat?” she asked.
“That or a large piece of driftwood,” Turk said. “Come on, let’s go check it out.”
Turk approached with apprehension. The storm had claimed his weapons, leaving him with nothing but the oars and his bare hands. If they came upon a group of armed survivors, post-world pirates, there would be no chance in a fight. They were too far out to swim, and the kayak could not out-pace a boat with a working engine or the ability to sail.
They paddled closer. It became clear they were looking at a decent size vessel. A sailboat. It looked to be battered. Perhaps in need of work to get moving. But it was there.
Dumb fucking luck.
“Listen,” Turk said. “If something happens, you paddle as hard as you can toward shore. Don’t worry about me.”
They pulled alongside the vessel. Turk reached out for a stray rope that trailed into the water. He tied it to an eyebolt on the rear of the kayak.
“I’m gonna check it out.” He stood and grabbed the side of the boat. “Just pull the end of the rope hanging in the water and the knot will come undone.”
He pulled himself up and over. The deck was empty except for a couple plastic cups, a shirt, and several water bottles that rolled back and forth as the craft swayed.
That was it though. No one was on deck.
The mast looked to be in good shape. Solid. The sail had been pulled down. But even wrapped and bundled, Turk spotted obvious damage. Elana could repair it. Might take a while, but she could do it.
The sailboat was equipped with an on-board motor. But with no source of fuel, that didn’t matter. Even if he could refuel it, the tank only held so much. Refilling would be impossible.
He pulled the hatch open and yelled into the cabin. “Hello?”
No one returned his call.
Turk walked back to the side and looked down at Rhea. “I’m going downstairs. If you don’t hear from me in three minutes, get out of here.”
It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting below. Sunlight spilled in from the open doorway, and a couple portholes along the wall. He called out again, in case someone was in one of the bunks. His attempt went unanswered.
He moved through the living area and checked the bunks. Two curtains were drawn shut. He pulled the first back. An unmade bed was empty. He pulled the second back, revealing a double size bed, also empty and unmade. The other beds looked untouched.
Looking around the space, Turk guessed he could fit ten people on board. Maybe more. Enough room for his family and a few others to live comfortably.
Couches lined the walls of the living area. He pulled back the cushions, revealing storage containers. One side contained two survival life rafts, life preservers, a first aid kit, MREs, bottled water, and other supplies.
He opened a bottle of water and took two pulls from it, waited a few seconds, then drank the rest.
On the other side he found more storage containers, holding three rifles and two 9mm handguns, and matching boxes of ammunition. Someone had departed prepared. He shoved a pistol in his waistband and pulled out a rifle and placed it on the tabletop along with the second pistol.
After clearing the cabin, he headed back to the deck and helped Rhea on board.
“No one here?”
He shook his head. “Guess the storm got them. Looks like only a couple of the bunks were used, so maybe only two or three people on board. They were probably working together to fight through the storm. Trying to prevent the boat from capsizing. Waves would have been monstrous at times. Probably swept them overboard. Or one of them went over, and whoever was left tried to help.”
“How come we’re not moving much?”
“Anchor.” He led her to the aft end and leaned over the railing. “They didn’t want the boat to move while helping the man overboard.”
“Should we look for them?”
Turk’s gaze swept the vast ocean. “They didn’t make it.”
She fell back into a chair and looked up at him. “You’ll take me with you?”
There was plenty of space. And the woman could come in handy when they reached their destination, considering he had far fewer survivors with him than he had planned.
“I will.” Turk sat next to her. “Here’s how I’m gonna work this. You stay here. Downstairs there’s a rifle and a pistol on the table. You ever shot before?”
She nodded. “Guess my family didn’t tell you I’m Army?”
“No, they didn’t. That’s perfect, Rhea. Now listen to me. You defend this boat like it’s your virginity and you’re surrounded by a pack of men who’ve been imprisoned for forty years. Got that?”
She smiled. “Where are you going?”
“To get my family. I’ll be back by nightfall. Don’t do anything stupid like pull up that anchor.”
Turk led her into the cabin. While there, he searched under the double bed in back and found another storage container. Inside were two handheld battery operated long-range radios.
“Perfect.”
He decided to add another leg to his journey. There were others. They were coming to meet him at the bunker. Turk didn’t know how long he would remain close to Charleston, but if anyone showed up during that time, he wanted them to have a chance. The radios might help.
He set one on the table in front of Rhea and switched it on. Then the other. They worked short range. He planned to test it once he reached the bunker.
Rhea helped Turk load the kayak with a couple life vests, one lifeboat, some water and MREs, and then he departed for shore.
To leave hope at the bunker.
And bring his family to their new home.
Thirty-Two
Muted light filtered through grime-covered windows and splashed across the weathered wooden floor.
How many sunrises are left? For me? For humanity?
Sean had made it through another night. Perhaps the most impossible of them all. At least since his time in Nigeria.
He wondered how many survivors perished in the hurricane. Or was it a tropical storm? He supposed it didn’t matter. All one had to do was look at the devastation that occurred in countries the news didn’t report on when a hurricane went through. The United States was third world now. Hell, that might be an upgrade over what most faced since the outbreak.
What had happened to the men in the other two trucks? They had fallen behind the one piloted by Barton. Did the storm claim them? Or had they managed to power through?
He held no specific grudge against the men other than they belonged to a camp who felt it appropriate to open fire on a group of su
rvivors taking refuge in an abandoned house while passing through.
For that reason, he didn’t give a shit if those guys survived the night, or had their hearts devoured by the same afflicted who tore Phil to shreds.
Light continued to fill the room. Sean looked around, glad to take a break from his thoughts.
The place was old, dusty and dirty. Cobwebs clogged the corners. Rodent waste scattered everywhere.
He got up and opened the cabinets, prepared for something to jump out at him.
Nothing did.
He found little of use in the cabinets. One can of chili, ten years past its expiration date.
It wasn’t until he made his way around the room a second time that he slid open a drawer and found a set of maps. He pulled them out and spread them on the counter top. The edges were frayed. Old creases threatened to split the paper into eight. They were local and regional. Street maps. Topographical. Marked up with pencil, blue ink, and yellow highlighter. He opened each up and placed them side by side. They all had roughly the same location circled in blue ink.
The cabin.
Sean realized he was further north and west than he had thought. More time had passed in the truck than he had realized. The men had beaten him after detaining him. Had he been unconscious for part of it? Concussed, perhaps? There was no other explanation other than time had simply slowed down in light of everything that had happened.
A long trail of events played through his mind. It led back to Emma. He felt hollow inside. He had no way of reaching her. The only way he’d know if she made it to Turk’s was for him to go there himself.
Sean looked down at his titanium capped stump.
How the hell was he supposed to make that journey on one leg? And if he did, what would he do once he arrived? He’d be a drag on the community. A dead weight others would have to fend for.
Sean placed his finger on the map and traced north. He was less than a hundred miles from his house. A week’s journey and he’d be inside his bunker, where he could communicate with Turk and Emma. In the refuge of the underground dwelling, he could prepare for the journey. He had two legs there. Food. Water. Medicine. Weapons. And with only him to worry about, he could make the trip to South Carolina and get there before winter hit.
Is it crazy I’m thinking of going home? Adding a couple hundred miles to the trip?
Sean knew everything hinged on mobility. Right now, he had none. That made getting anywhere difficult. But a hundred miles was shorter than two hundred and fifty no matter how he looked at it.
“I’m whole, or I’m nothing to them.”
He folded the maps and left them on the counter. What other secrets did the cabin hide? He pulled every drawer out. Opened the cabinets again and used the branch he’d carried as a crutch to sweep the top shelves.
In the end, he scavanged a roll of heavy tape, a square of foam padding, and a hunting knife.
A start, he figured.
Sean headed outside and scavenged the clearing and surrounding woods until he had another branch roughly the same size as the one he carried. Then he found four smaller hunks of wood. He attached the smaller pieces to the longer ones with the tape, forming a T with a short cross at the top and part of the way down. Then he cut the foam in half and wrapped the crossing portion with it. Again, he wrapped it all in tape.
Crutches.
Crude.
Effective.
He was able to manipulate his way around the clearing and through the woods at least at the speed he could walk with his prosthetic. A more mobile form of transportation was ideal, but the crutches allowed him to make the required trip.
Back inside the cabin, he tried to come up with a way to create a spear with the knife, but no method worked well enough where he could trust the contraption. If it came down to it, the crutches could be used as clubs and the knife would be his last resort.
Sean made another pass around the cabin, searching for a hidden cut out in the wall, or loose floorboards where whoever had lived here had stashed a supply of food or weapons.
In the end, he found nothing else. But he wouldn’t call it a waste of time. Sure, he’d used time and energy, but if something had turned up that would make his journey easier, it would have paid off.
Hunger and thirst forced his mind to retreat from the thought of beginning the journey. But he had managed four or five hours of sleep and felt rested. No matter how he approached it, the trip would not be easy. He would be relegated to the road for a good portion of it if he wanted to make it home within a week.
“Time to go.”
He gathered the maps, stuffed them in his waistband, and left the shelter behind, calling on his instincts and Special Forces training to protect him on his journey.
Shuffling in the woods to his right gave Sean reason to pause. He leaned against his right crutch and retrieved the knife.
The diminutive figure emerged from the woods.
Sean whistled as he tucked the blade away.
“Come here, Marley-boy.”
He had no idea how the dog had found him. Didn’t bother to contemplate it. That would come later. For now, he was simply happy to have a companion for the journey.
Thirty-Three
The deserted outskirts of Charleston left Turk feeling alone for the first time in more than a day. Even when he passed a group of afflicted, they ignored him. Stood there, staring at the sky, or off in the distance. The second group as well. Of course, Turk hadn’t treaded too close.
One afflicted could ruin his day.
Turk straddled the road shoulder for most of the trek, ducking into the woods when he had spotted the afflicted. The steady drone of insects and chirping birds followed him. The humid air smelled of wet leaves.
Two hours after he hid the kayak in a marshy creek, Turk reached his defunct bunker. He watched from a distance before making his approach. He didn’t count on anyone squatting there, but it was better to make sure.
After ten minutes, he figured it was safe. Turk crossed the field and found the earthen entry hatch. He lowered himself into the hole, then crept through the tunnel. Dull red lighting lit the passage. He had mounted flashlights along the wall when he finished the bunker. He grabbed one and flicked it on. At the end of the sunken walkway stood the bunker’s entrance. With no power, he had to manually disengage the lock. He entered the code on the mechanical keypad and waited for the click and hiss.
The door opened. Dim red light washed over the space. The bunker was deep under the Earth’s surface. The temperature was self-regulated. But the air was stale and unmoving.
Turk went straight to the storeroom.
When Turk had left with his family and Sarah, they’d carried some provisions with them. He figured they could never have enough. They faced a long journey, and had added Rhea to their group.
He pulled a duffel bag off a wire rack and stuffed it full of batteries, a handheld GPS unit, and a radio that he figured he could play around with to see if anyone was broadcasting, and parts for a solar still capable of filtering enough water for them to survive on.
He filled a rucksack with MREs and water pouches, additional ammunition, and three Glock 17s. He strapped on a belt equipped with four frags. Finally, he strapped two M16s over his shoulders. He had enough rifles and pistols for everyone to be armed now.
For the first time since he’d left the bunker, he felt safe. A bit overloaded, but the security it provided gave him renewed energy.
Turk locked the door after exiting into the tunnel. At the foot of the door, he left one of the radios with a note he had scrawled on a piece of yellow paper. It contained the channel he’d set the radio at the boat to.
From the bunker, he made his way to the house where he’d left his family.
He covered three miles in half the time it would normally take. Pain. Hunger. Thirst. None of it affected him. Adrenaline and an intense desire to hug his wife and daughter drove Turk forward.
As he approached the hous
e, he heard his daughter call out inside, telling her mother that daddy was home.
The door opened and Turk was greeted with a rifle. He looked past it at his smiling wife.
He stopped on the front porch, letting the gear slide off his arms. “I got us a boat. Let’s go.”
Turk didn’t stay long enough to fill his stomach. It would weigh him down. He took a few sips of water, fearing cramping if he chugged a bottle or two. There would be time to replenish. Right now, he was in the middle of a mission and getting his family to the sailboat was priority one.
They met little resistance on the trip back. The few afflicted they saw appeared to be in the same trance-like state as the damned he’d seen earlier. They stared at the sky, or into the woods, or out over fields. The storm was all Turk could think of. The event had left them dazed, or mesmerized. Perhaps they attempted to follow the hurricane.
In the end, as long as the afflicted left him alone, Turk didn’t care.
He led his family through the woods when necessary. The rest of the time, they walked along the side of the road, checking the odd stranded vehicle they passed to see if it would start. Seemed all had been drained of their gas.
One potential obstacle remained. But any fears of someone stealing the kayak dissipated when they reached the swampy lane where Turk had left it. The Charleston area had miles of estuaries perfect for paddling. Turk had spent hours there over the years, and knew the rivers by memory.
He inflated the life raft and tied it to the kayak. Elana and Layla sat in it, while Sarah joined Turk in the kayak to help paddle. They navigated through the estuaries and back to open water. After getting past the breakers, the rest of the trip went by quickly.
The final straw of tension broke and faded with the wind when the sailboat was in view. Rhea waved at them from the deck. She helped secure the kayak and helped Turk get the others onboard.
“Didn’t tell me you had a girlfriend,” Elana said, smiling.