Roads Less Traveled (Book 3): Shades of Gray

by C. Dulaney

  “Let me come with you, John,” I said.

  Michael stopped in his tracks, a few feet out onto the porch, but didn’t turn around. He kept his back to us, letting John decide this one on his own. Finally John shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.

  “Not a good idea, girl. Considering…” He sighed, then spun on his heel and shut the door in my face.

  * * *

  Michael and John intended to make their way to the prison on horseback, first by road, then by woods. Their plan was to set up on the ridge opposite the prison and get a good look before moving in. If the prison hadn’t been overrun, and if it wasn’t still under siege, they would ride straight up to the front gate and demand to see Waters. If the guards wouldn’t let them in, well, they hadn’t planned ahead that far. Either way, something was going on and they were determined to get to the bottom of it. Lucy had been fine when Michael had let her move to the prison. Then she showed up the night before with a pack of runners, a few others of which they also recognized. The lights from the prison were suspicious, as was the fact that no one there had answered Michael on the radio, or even called Michael first if, in fact, shit had been hitting the fan over there, to warn him. It all added up to a drop-your-pants-and-kiss-your-ass-goodbye scenario.

  “I think something happened over there last night. And I think Lucy remembered her way to the club.”

  “Oh no, man. Hell no. Don’t even be saying that shit to me,” John answered.

  The idea of these zombies retaining some sort of memory had been tossed around before, yet no one had ever given it serious thought. It made sense though, if Michael was right, and something bad had happened at the prison first. It was the only scenario that did make sense to him; how else would the little girl end up being a raging dead thing, when she was safe and sound the last Michael had heard?

  “I know, I know. It’s a lot to swallow. But think about it, John, and you’ll understand why I said it.” Michael fell silent as they rode, letting John chew it over.

  They were nearing the end of the drive, where gravel met blacktop, when John suddenly reined his horse in.

  “Hold up, Mike.”

  Michael turned in the saddle to look behind him. John was holding his hand up, and when he had Michael’s attention, he curled his fingers into a fist except one; his index finger, pointing to the left towards the main road. Michael turned his head and looked in that direction. He didn’t see anything. He turned back to John, but the big man was tapping his ear with the same index finger he had been pointing with before.

  Then he tapped his nose.

  Michael’s eyes grew wide when the stench hit his face, whipping his head around to look back down the pavement. That’s when his ears caught up with John’s and finally heard the first hints of screeching.

  “Go, go, go!” he whispered urgently and gave the reins a hard yank to turn his horse around. John copied his movements, and in seconds they were both galloping back the way they’d come.

  “I think we fucked up, Mike!”

  As they were kicking up dust and gravel in the first bend, the front ranks of the runner swarm were turning off the pavement and onto the club’s road. One hundred yards separated them, just one football field. Michael knew the swarm would follow them back to the club, and he also knew they had zero time to try distracting them. Distance and speed were against them this time, so he was left with only one choice.

  He pressed the walkie to his lips. “This is Michael. We’re coming back, and we’re coming in hot. All guns be ready, we got runners!” He shoved it into a vest pocket, grabbed the reins with both hands, and kicked his horse on faster.

  He glanced back once and regretted doing so; the runners had caught the scent of fresh meat and had closed the distance to fifty yards. His eyes met John’s as they flew past the halfway point of the drive. The big man’s face mirrored Michael’s feeling of defeat. They wouldn’t be able to get through the gate in time, not without endangering everyone inside. They had no idea how large this swarm was, but it was a safe assumption they had either come from or had split off from a larger horde attacking the prison.

  To put it bluntly, they were screwed.

  “The gate’s open!” John jabbed a finger towards the wall.

  The horses were running downhill by this time, closing in fast on the club. The men had broken through the tree line when the first shots started ringing out. John glanced behind him and saw dozens of runners at least thirty yards behind them. He whipped his head to the left and right and saw runners pouring from the woods trying to flank them. Apparently it was a large group and they had fanned out. Michael kept his eyes on the gate, cussing with each breath that it was open but also nearly pissing his pants with relief. John pulled his handgun and started taking shots off to his right.

  “Go, Mike!” he yelled, taking down two runners that had threatened to block their way.

  John glanced up and saw rifle barrels aiming over his head and firing at the closest runners, giving him and Michael a fighting chance at getting inside. Michael barreled through first, with John right behind him. Jumping off their horses before they were stopped, they ran back to the gate. Jonah and Jake had already slammed the iron gate shut and were trying to push the heavy wooden door closed as well. Gunshots rang out from every direction above their heads, over and over as the shooters up top fought to keep the area in front of the gate as clear as they could until it was secured. It wasn’t enough. A writhing mass of running death hit the iron gate with such force that it broke loose from its hinges, forcing it inward against the sturdy wood that Jake and Jonah were trying to shove closed.

  John and Michael ran the last few yards and slammed their bodies against the door. This helped, however for every inch the men pushed, the deadheads pushed back two.

  “Put your ass into it, boys!” Jake yelled.

  Hands reached inside the gaping foot-wide crack, scaly gut-caked fingers curling against the oak as the runners worked together and shoved as one. Their screaming howls were so loud the men could barely hear the gunshots anymore.

  “We’re losin’ it! Get ready to run!” Jonah shouted.

  “Don’t you fuckin’ move, cowboy! Now I said, put your asses into it!”

  John and Michael were grunting and straining behind Jake, following the younger man’s lead when Jake eased up a bit and then slammed himself against the door again. Jonah caught on when the door suddenly relented several inches.

  “Oh! That ass! Now I’m followin’ ya!” Jonah replied.

  As one the four men eased back and slammed, eased back and slammed, slowly moving the wooden door back. Sweat poured from their faces, veins stood out in their necks, grunting and groaning and wondering how many of those goddamn things were out there. Then Abby showed up.

  “Watch yourselves!” she yelled two seconds before aiming her pistol at the small crack between the wall and the door, opening fire pointblank on the runners who were still trying to shove their faces through.

  “Jesus!” Jonah instinctively moved his hands to cover his head. He was on that edge of the door, and Abby was firing inches from his face.

  She emptied her gun into the crowd outside, which luckily killed enough so the men could slam the door shut and slide the heavy security planks into place. Four tired men hit the ground once it was secure, and as they all sat there looking back and forth at one another, gasping for breath, they could feel the runners beating on the other side.

  “Nancy!” Michael yelled into his walkie. “Take Troy and get the kids to the dock. You’re on standby until I give either the all-clear or evacuation order!”

  “Hot damn,” Jake said through ragged breaths. “What a rush!”

  * * *

  “Eric! Get over there and cover that flank!” I shouted at the worthless pile of crap standing ten feet from me, staring down at the angry, hungry mouths screeching up at us.

  The other worthless turd, Todd, was trying to stay out of Mia’s way on the left sid
e of the wall, while I was stuck with Eric on the right. We had just begun carrying out Michael’s orders earlier when he’d screamed back to us over the radio, letting us know in no uncertain terms that we were in trouble. Honestly, I had assumed they were dead men walking, or riding in this case. Mia, Jake, and I had had experience in trying to outride these runners, and it wasn’t exactly something I’d want to try again. When Michael told us via walkie that he and John were coming back, I really didn’t think they’d make it. Wasn’t I surprised to see them come barreling down the gravel road towards the gate.

  “Eric! Now!”

  We were piss-poorly prepared for this and I knew it. I think everyone knew it. It wasn’t helping matters having two perfectly capable shooters freezing up just when we needed them the most. I was stationed in the right gate tower, doing my level best to kill as many of the putrid berserkers below me as I could, and Eric was supposed to be set up on the wall, between my tower platform and the river. Between shots I kept glancing at him. My shouts hadn’t moved the sorry bastard. He was simply standing there, rifle hanging limp at his side, and staring down at the deadheads. I cussed under my breath, emptied my rifle into the crowd below, then set it aside to whoop some dumbass.

  “Eric!”

  I left the platform and jogged to the younger man. I grabbed his arm and spun him around. His face was slack and his eyes vacant. I slapped him. That seemed to work. His eyes focused on me and his lips curled in a snarl.

  I pointed behind him, toward the spot he was supposed to be covering.

  “Go! Now!”

  “Kasey, the gate!” Mia’s voice jumped out of the walkie attached to my shirt collar. I let go of Eric, and as he ran to his post, I ran back to the platform.

  “On it!” I answered, then slammed the walkie down onto the bench and quickly reloaded my rifle.

  I spared a few glances over my left shoulder and saw the guys had finally gotten the door shut and locked. Jake, Jonah, and John were scrambling up the staircase. From the looks of it Michael was screaming bloody murder into his walkie talkie. I couldn’t hear it of course; there were deadheads frantically climbing and clawing on top of one another, all hollering their terrifying, yet quickly annoying, shrieks, trying to nab me. Lucky for me, the wall was too tall. I tore my attention from the men and put it back on the more immediate problem, not stopping to re-check the situation until three reloads later. It was then that I noticed there were fewer deadheads below me than before, and my rifle rounds hadn’t been the cause of their disappearance.

  * * *

  “Troy, be a dear and toss me that bag please,” Nancy said coolly.

  She and Troy were loading the bass boat behind the club with a few supplies, in case they needed to leave in a hurry. The three kids were already on board, huddled together and staying calm.

  The dock housed three bass boats, and during their time at the club, the boats had been repaired and maintained as a precaution. If the need for an evacuation ever arose, the plan was to hit the boats and sail on out of there, down river towards the prison, then hike over the one ridge between the river and Blueville Correctional. The dock itself was separate from the club; sixty feet from the back door.

  Nancy worked methodically, stowing the gear as Troy handed it to her. She could hear the rapid gunfire coming from the other side of the house, a never-ending stream of shots. She knew that was a bad sign; a lot of shooting meant a lot of zombies. She didn’t let that distract her from her job, however.

  “That’s the last one, ma’am,” Troy said.

  He was around her grandson’s age; a sweet, quiet boy with a sharp eye and a willingness to work. As soon as Nancy secured the last bag, she jumped from the boat and shouldered her shotgun. Together she and Troy stood guard over the children, their backs to the boat and their eyes focused on the open area around them; the back of the Winchester, and the two ends of the wall. She took a deep breath, set her jaw, and waited.

  * * *

  “Spread out! Spread out!” Michael screamed.

  He wasn’t using his walkie talkie this time, there was no need. Those goddamn runners had figured out that the wall had two ends, and that if they simply took a cool dip in the river, they’d come out on the inside, where all the fresh meat just happened to be. I was tripping over my own feet with panic, trying to get to my end of the wall. Eric was already there, inside the watchtower. It seemed as though he was having trouble with his gun. At least that’s what I was trying to convince myself. That was better than what was really happening; the stupid sonofabitch had frozen up again.

  Abby, Mia, Todd, and Michael were desperately trying to get into position on their side, while John, Jonah, and Jake were trampling down my ass on my side. I noticed how quiet everything and everyone had become. Even Jake. I think at that moment we were all having the same premonition, and that mental image was more than we could bear.

  They were going to get inside.

  Nancy and Troy were on the dock.

  The kids…oh God, the kids.

  Heart hammering in my chest, I literally shoved Eric out of my way, almost sending him flying over the platform’s ledge. I could hear a few short, barking orders coming from behind me, but had no idea who they were coming from. My only thoughts were of Nancy and the kids. I skidded to a stop just at the end of the wall.

  “Goddamnit!” I yelled, immediately setting up at the shooter’s bench and opening fire on the deadheads spewing forth from the river.

  I worked my rifle’s bolt over and over, missing half of my targets. As I stopped to reload, the guys positioned around me kept firing. We were taking them down, but not fast enough. For every one we killed, three leapt from the water and ran towards Nancy, Troy, and the three kids in the boat.

  I knew what was about to happen. I heard Jake next me, cussing and swearing as loud as he could, his voice choked with piercing sobs.

  * * *

  “Get that motor running!” Nancy yelled, slamming the butt of her shotgun into the mouth of one runner, then immediately swinging it to catch another along the side of its face.

  She couldn’t figure out what had happened, how the deadheads had gotten past the others. Her focus had been on the areas around the house, not the ends of the wall.

  Why didn’t we secure the ends of the wall? Seal the gap, something!

  Troy yanked so hard on the engine’s pull-chord it snapped. Before he could scream his frustrations, a runner wrapped him up and took him off the side of the boat. Nancy caught a glimpse of his face as he was dragged under the murky water.

  This is it.

  Little Sam shrieked. She couldn’t hear the other children anymore.

  Too late.

  The last lucid thought Nancy had before being torn to shreds was of Jake, Kasey, and Mia, a silent apology for not being able to stay with them.

  * * *

  This isn’t happening, Mia thought.

  She watched Nancy and Troy frantically trying to get the boat’s motor to start while simultaneously trying to fight off the dead that were swarming all over them. The children were screaming and trying to jump off the boat. Between Nancy and Troy firing at and beating off the deadheads, Sam, Elly, and Meredith were stuck. Mia’s hands shook terribly as she dug into her shell carrier. She was down to her last reload, and she had a feeling the others weren’t too far behind. She loaded her last five shells and glanced at the people around her in the left end watchtower: they were all in different stages of alarm. Some were yelling obscenities, some were crying. She pulled her gun up again to continue firing, trying her best not to focus on Nancy through her scope.

  “Fuck! You fucking bastards!” Michael screamed and threw his rifle down onto the wooden floor.

  He was empty and out of ammunition, but he pulled his sidearm all the same. Mia shot over and over, killing the runners who were trying to claw their way onto the boat. It didn’t matter now, it was already overrun. The screams of the living joined the shrieks of the dead for several ago
nizing minutes.

  The shooters kept firing.

  When Mia’s gun clicked empty, she simply held the rifle’s scope on Nancy and watched.

  * * *

  While Mia witnessed the carnage from her side of the wall, I was busy trying to pin Jake to the floor of the watchtower. He was going out of his mind, having seen and heard every second of the slaughter. Eric was slumped over the ledge, puking his guts out, and John and Jonah were still firing into the runners. I didn’t realize until later, after everything had calmed down and I’d had a chance to think over what had happened, that I’d been crying as hard and as loud as Jake. We probably looked like runners ourselves, babbling and yelling like we were, fighting and pawing over each other. I knew with absolute certainty that if I didn’t stop him, Jake would do something very stupid.

  As it turned out, I couldn’t stop him, and Jake indeed did something very stupid.

  Chapter Five

  November 19th: Pency

  “I’m tellin’ you, we need to get outta here while we still can,” the technician mumbled.

  He and his coworker, a short plump woman, sat at a control panel watching several small television screens arrayed in front of them. It was a joke to call them security guards; a month earlier they’d been part of the custodial team working the facility. As time went on, and everything started breaking down, employee after employee hit the bricks. Took off without a word, the hell with a two weeks’ notice. That wasn’t counting the soldiers and handful of loyal employees the scientists had taken, to fill their “quota.” Now there were only a handful of scientists left, a few guards, and these two.