He shrugged into his backpack as they walked down the hall, then accepted the baseball bat from Twigs. “Thanks, buddy.”
“No prob,” Twigs said. “You know what is a problem, though?”
“What’s that?” Cara wanted to know.
“If we tell anyone about this, we are so grounded!”
“There is that,” Alex agreed. He reached out and pulled the front door open. “But we can tell . . .” He trailed off. He sensed rather than saw Cara and Twigs stiffening at his side.
The creeps stood in a half-circle in his front yard, facing the door to Alex’s house. His stomach twisted, and he thought, They followed us. They followed us and now they’re waiting for us.
“Boss.”
The word came through the haze of sleep. For a time, he didn’t recognize it as something external to his dream, and carried on. Then the noise repeated itself, accompanied this time by an insistent shake.
Dantzler jerked awake and snatched the hand at his shoulder. His other hand was reaching for the knife at his belt before he realized that Lloyd was leaning over his cot. “Boss, wake up, we got a problem.”
He blinked and tried to clear his mind of the vestiges of a dream that was already slipping away. He was sweaty under his clothes, and there was a sour taste in his mouth. It had been a fitful rest even before the interruption. “What?”
“We got a problem, boss.”
Dantzler grunted and waved his hand for Lloyd to spit it out. He levered up, sat on the edge of his cot, and massaged his eyes with the balls of his hands.
“I ran into Chris Naylor in the cafeteria. He said Pete Matthews cut him loose and shoved Greg Mills into the holding cell. Said Matthews told him he ‘had bigger fish to fry’ and that he was free to go.”
Dantzler stared at Lloyd and tried to remain calm. “That’s it? For this, you wake me up like the hounds of Hell are nipping at your heels? Damn, boy, you have got a severe sense of paranoia. Have you been sampling the product?”
Lloyd squirmed under the intensity of his gaze. “No, no, don’t you get it, boss? Mills was shacking up with Melanie, on Buck’s crew.”
“And again, I fail to see the problem. The Buck issue is a dead end, there’s no one left alive to link us and him.” The facial expression Lloyd assumed in reaction to that comment caused Dantzler to fall silent. Lloyd squirmed under the intensity of his gaze. “Talk.”
“Melanie, she had a big mouth, boss. I know Buck had to shut her up one night in the bar because she was joking around about our product, asking if anyone had tried it, that kind of thing. Just . . . just stupid stuff, you know, but if she was that free in public, who knows what she’d tell the guy she was sleeping with.”
Conjecture, sure. But ‘bigger fish?’ What kind of coincidence would it take for Mills to know something about his girlfriend’s involvement? Dantzler hadn’t lived this long leaving things to chance. If it had been some other nobody off of the street, yeah he could make himself believe that it had nothing to do with him, but this was too close. Damn it. “You knew this. Buck knew this.” Dantzler was wide awake now. “Why was I not told, Lloyd?”
The other man stuttered. “Buck swore to me he had it under control, boss. He knew you’d freak out if you found out, but he took care of it. And hell, I thought the same as you, the crew is dead, so no loose ends, right?”
Back when he’d been new in the outfit — and low on the totem pole — one of the mid-level guys had made a comment that stuck with him. “Crooks that get caught are stupid. That’s not hyperbole; it’s fact. The average prison inmate has an IQ ten points lower than the average person in the general population. If somebody in your crew is going to get busted, more likely than not it’s going to be the idiot of the bunch.”
“So what’s the solution?” Young Dantzler had asked.
“Keep the idiots at arm’s length and in the dark. And keep the smart ones well-paid.”
Now, he wondered if he hadn’t overlooked the first part of that equation in favor of the latter. It was becoming evident that he had some serious deficiencies with his crew. He stared Lloyd down and decided that the man was moving to the head of the class for headcount reduction. The only question was when and how to do it, so that Victor and Ben didn’t get too suspicious.
He decided that Lloyd had squirmed long enough in the silence and spoke. “Tell the others the plan has changed. We’re getting out of here right now.”
“Okay, boss, but . . . won’t we get spotted?”
Dantzler considered that. If Pete was cutting prisoners loose, he wasn’t up in the tower. That helped quite a bit. Of course, the other gate guards were sure to see something, even if it was to notice that no one was standing watch on the southeastern bunker. They needed a distraction. After a moment of thought, he smiled.
“Not if we leave after the fuel dump blows up, Lloyd.”
The other man’s jaw dropped. Dantzler could understand his shock. The diesel fuel the community processed from their soybean crops at a nearby bio-diesel plant wasn’t guarded like gold, exactly, but the large tanks near the motor pool stayed chained and locked with redundant padlocks so that no one person could draw on the fuel stores. “Boss . . . They need that gas for runnin’ the tractors and for the salvage crews. If we do that, well, hell.”
“Problem, Lloyd?” Dantzler inquired as he pulled on his boots and began to lace them up.
“They’ll starve to death, boss. They won’t be able to plant crops, or haul anything over any sort of long distance.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. You in, or out?”
The other man grimaced and swallowed. “I’m in, boss. I’ve still had about all this place I can stand.”
“Good. Tell the others to get anything together they don’t want to leave behind. I’m going to sneak out to the culvert and build us a bomb.”
Chapter 32
The front door vibrated in its frame as Alex backed away. He’d thrown the deadbolt, but as he watched the door shake and heard the repeated thumps as the creeps launched themselves at the closed door, he couldn’t help but think that it wasn’t going to hold for long.
“How many?” Twigs whispered. Alex didn’t know why he bothered to keep his voice down. It wasn’t like they could hide from the things.
“A lot,” Alex said.
“Back door?” Cara asked.
“Nothing,” Alex said, then turned and pointed. “Just the patio. The fence goes all the way around.” The long, rectangular kitchen table sat next to the sliding doors. He supposed that it had made for a nice view during meals, but he couldn’t remember. Maybe his parents had kept the drapes closed.
“Better than nothing,” Cara replied. She stepped over and checked either side of the sliding glass door. “Fence still looks tight. There’s nothing in the backyard. Climb out?”
Before Alex could answer, he heard the sound of splintering wood. When he turned, the front door had popped partially out of its frame. Light shone in from the upper corner, opposite the hinges. “We got to slow them down,” Alex thought out loud. “Help me!”
He grabbed the first chair at the table and hurled it toward the front door. The chair was heavier than he’d first thought, so it landed short of the door in the living room. Better than nothing.
“Flip the table over!” Twigs gasped.
Alex threw a second chair before giving his friend a confused look. “What do you . . .” he started. Then he got it. “Right! Open the slider!” As Cara fumbled with the latch on the patio door, Alex slid his baseball bat into his backpack and got both hands under the table. He heaved with a grunt but accomplished nothing. Like the chairs, the table was solid and heavy.
The patio door slid open a bare few inches, then stopped. Cara cursed and closed it. She tore the drapes the rest of the way open, then bent over to pull the sawed-off broomstick out of the lower track. Twigs stepped up beside Alex and added his strength to Alex’s next heave. This time, they got it up on two feet before the weight becom
e too much and the table slammed back down to the kitchen floor with a hollow boom.
As though in accompaniment, the front door rattled again, and wood splintered. They had moments if that. Cara had the patio door open now, and she joined Twigs and Alex. The three of them heaved as one. The table balanced on two legs, and Alex cringed, waiting for it to come back down, but their combined strength got it past the tipping point, and the table slammed down on its side with the surface facing the slider.
The front door gave up the ghost and fell inward along with a pair of creeps. As soon as the blockage was out of the way, another handful rushed the door. With dawning horror, Alex realized that these creeps were faster and more agile than any that he’d seen before. He reached up for his baseball bat but Cara yelled to stop him.
“Outside, pull the table with us!”
Twigs ducked under a table leg and began to pull on that end. Alex had to step around, which took far much time. By the time he got to his own corner, the first wave of creeps was almost on them, emaciated claws reaching out.
But they weren’t alone. Cara stepped up between the two of them with her suppressed carbine and began pulling the trigger. Her first few shots were ineffectual, and Alex heard the slight ping of ricochets. If the .22s weren’t going to work, they were in big trouble.
That concern vanished as Cara settled down and found her rhythm. A creep slumped into the table in front of Alex, its life snuffed out. Then the next, and the next, and suddenly they had breathing room.
Her rifle clicked empty as Twigs pulled the table flush against the wall next to the door frame and stepped outside. Alex had his as close as he could get it without pressing himself against the window, so he sidestepped and backed out, then tried to pull his side flush.
The creeps inside the house were advancing at a more deliberate pace now, and Alex heard wood creak as others tested the strength of the fence on the side closest to the front door. They’re not supposed to be that smart. They’re supposed to be single-minded.
Cara’s voice was high-pitched, and he realized that she was just as terrified as he was. “Their heads shouldn’t be that damn hard, it’s rotten bone!”
Twigs was the only member of the group that didn’t sound like he was freaking out. “Just need a bigger bullet.” His slingshot hummed, and one of the creeps inside of the house jolted sideways with a massive hole bored in its skull. “See?”
“Less talky, more runny,” Alex managed. One of the fence boards near the house burst in, and a creep got an arm and shoulder through.
“What he said,” Cara added, and sent a trio of shots into the creep trying to get through the fence. It fell still, then slid backward as the creeps behind it started moving it out of the way.
Alex sprinted past his playset and put his foot on the bottom horizontal rail of the fence to boost himself up. He didn’t see anything to the left or right on the other side, so he pulled himself up and straddled the fence. The pointed tops dug painfully into his crotch, but he’d take that over being eaten alive any day. “Twigs!” he barked, reaching down.
The smaller boy grabbed his hands, and Alex heaved. For a moment, he tottered, but he clamped his thighs tighter on the fence and kept himself from falling over. Twigs’ shoes scrabbled on the fence as he tried to get a foothold. Alex had enough momentum that he had the other boy halfway up before his feet got a grip and added his own leg strength to the movement. Twigs released one of Alex’s hands and grabbed the top of the fence, then repeated the motion with his other hand. With Twigs steadied, Alex reached down and grabbed Cara’s hands. She’d already slung the carbine over one shoulder, and as Alex pulled her up she jerked her head over her shoulder and stared at the creeps who were tumbling over the kitchen table barricade and into the back yard.
“I got you,” Alex managed through gritted teeth as he heaved. Cara’s longer legs helped even more, but instead of pausing at the top like Twigs, she kept moving, rolling over the top of the fence and landing lightly on her feet. Despite the situation, Alex had to marvel at the move. He unclenched his legs and swung his inner leg over the fence, then dropped down to the grass below.
A couple of creeps had already rounded the corner and were heading their way. Twigs missed low with his first shot, and the ball bearing took a redundant chunk of flesh out of the creep’s neck. Cara swung her carbine over and started pulling the trigger. By the time her fourth shot brought the maimed creep down, Twigs’ next shot had nailed the last creep in the forehead and stopped it in its tracks.
“I’m never making fun of that thing again,” Alex promised.
A grin flashed across Twigs’ face. “Less talky, more runny,” he laughed. He got a running start and hopped the drainage ditch between the edge of Alex’s house and the road.
“Kid’s got a point,” Cara said, and they moved to follow him. There was no stealth in their motions now; they were running for pure survival. If there were creeps behind them, Alex didn’t care. His vision had narrowed into a cone of what was right in front of him. They sprinted across the road and down the sidewalk between the parking lot and school. He had the vague sense of a looming presence in the parking lot, moving to cut them off. But then they had run past it and were sprinting through the overlong grass. They didn’t have time to take the long way. Speed was their only salvation.
They angled through rusting hulks of playground equipment, and past the poles sprouting from the blacktop. “Keep going!” Alex shouted. “Jump the creek! That’ll slow them down!”
None of them replied, but if it was possible, they bent their heads low and redoubled their efforts. Alex’s side burned with exertion, and his heart thundered in his chest. The edge drew ever closer.
Twigs was the first to jump, and his arms cartwheeled in midair. He was going to come up short, Alex realized as he jumped himself. With a squeal that was part terror but mostly exhilaration, Twigs arced into the opposite bank and splashed into the mud. Even as Alex and Cara made their own jumps, Twigs was sinking his hands and feet into the side of the bank and scrambling to the top.
Alex landed halfway up the bank with a grunt. He shook his head to clear it, then imitated his friend. He rolled over the edge onto the opposite bank and landed on his hands and knees. He stayed in that position, trying to catch his breath. Finally, he raised his head and looked for his friends. They were both there, and both stared at the opposite side of the creek. Alex followed their eyes with his own.
Behind the school, the grass waved peacefully in the breeze. Other than that, all was still.
“Where did they go?” Twigs whispered. No one answered, as though afraid that speaking would break the illusion on the opposite side of the creek.
“I don’t know,” Alex managed. “But let’s get the hell out of here before they come back.”
They’d completed the mission, but Miles had a vaguely unsettled feeling. It was the kind of sense he’d gotten in the old days when he left the stove on. If the SEALs felt the same way they weren’t letting on. Janacek rested on his bedroll in a shaded part of the roof with his baseball cap pulled over his eyes. The Chief sat on his own pack but had forgone rest for the moment. He thumbed through a battered paperback mostly held together by strips of duct tape.
Ross stepped up beside Miles and took in the tableau for a moment. “Welcome to the Navy, kid. Hurry up and wait.”
Miles grunted. “How do you just turn it off?”
“Practice, I guess. Take a load off, Mr. Matthews. Time moves slow when there’s nothing going on.” Ross gave him a knowing smile. “The morning flew by in comparison, huh?”
“Yeah.” Miles eased out of his pack and leaned against the outer wall surrounding the edge of the roof. He glanced down, but the streets remained empty. He shuddered. He knew he shouldn’t complain, but he’d never expected emptiness. This felt more like being back home, without the long sight lines the open fields around the community offered. Sure, what little he could see looked empty, but there were any num
ber of places within easy view that could hide watchful eyes, waiting for . . . . something. That thing on the ninth floor had been there for a reason.
Miles shrugged. He couldn’t do anything about it. Being ready for any curve balls that the universe decided to throw was something he could control. He dug a box of ammunition out of the bottom of his pack and began to replenish the rounds he’d used earlier.
Just down the wall, Ross sat down and took his own glance at the ground. He worked his mouth for a bit and finally spat over the edge before turning back around. The officer seemed content to lean his head back against the knee wall and enjoy the fading, late afternoon sun. Miles didn’t know if the other man had taken any shots before they’d boarded the helicopter. From the calm demeanor the man exhibited, he assumed the SEAL’s magazines were in full working order.
The silence was getting to him, so he spoke up. “So how long have you guys known?”
Ross lowered his head and gave him a puzzled look. “Known what?”
“About what really caused the outbreak.”
“Ah.” Ross brought his head back and closed his eyes. “Couple of years, I guess. We found the survivors, first. If you’re going to while away the end of the world on a tropical island, it's smart to shield your light and thermal signature. It took us a while, but as soon as we finagled a connection to the Keyhole reconnaissance satellites, they jumped right out at us. We were pretty excited to find survivors. But that didn’t last.” Ross made a face. “We started doing radio intercepts — out of habit more than anything, I suppose. There was some weirdness in some of the things they said, so we proceeded with caution, you know? Did a covert insertion and observed for a few days.” He sighed. “There were kids there, which shouldn’t be a surprise. Sometimes even monsters have families. But they had a school set up, and the things they were teaching those kids . . .” He shuddered. “Command made the decision to capture the place. It didn’t even take much interrogation for the whole story to spill. They were proud of it. They did it for the ‘greater good.’” Ross’ eyes went distant with memory. “We had a tough time with that.”
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