Chapter 17
The Search
Fifteen minutes later we all met back in the living room.
“I know where the facility is, roughly. I found it once while off-roading when I was a teenager. Actually, I found a huge chain link fence with razor wire on top in the middle of the woods north of Culpeper. We’re going to get Max and put an end to this Frye nonsense.” I started. “I tried to be a nice guy. I tried to play nice with that piece of shit, but I’m done. Tonight, I’m ending him. I’m either going to kill him, or I’m going to make sure that he never interferes with us again.” I was shaking with rage, which I knew I’d have some trouble getting under control. I needed this rage though, things were about to get violent. “This is not going to be pretty. This is not going to be nice. He came in my house and took my son and there will be hell to pay. I’m going to collect on that debt.”
“Mate, I know you’re mad as a cut snake, we all are. We all want to see that bastard dead, but if go in guns blazing like a drongo you gonna get us mob killed or worse, ya mum is gonna find out. We gotta nut this all out first cobber, I’m with you on killing him though.”
“John, you’re my best mate and I have no desire to get you killed. I am fine with you staying here and guarding the house against further attack.
“Fuck that, you ain’t shooting thru without me. You know I’m coming; someone’s gotta keep your sorry ass alive. Just let me get some tucker first”
“Alright. Here’s my plan, it’s fairly simple.” I said. “Step one, we find the place. Step two, we kill Frye.”
“Alright, let’s go find the fucker and get my nephew back,” said Marshall.
We were all hungry, so we stopped off in the kitchen for a quick raid of the pantry. Mom had bunch of stuff laid out for us. I stopped in the kitchen to talk to her when we first got back; she laid out her recollections and her ideas about where Frye was.
“I don’t think the Colonel is staying at Mount Pony. He went north, which would lead him to Route 29. That’s about six miles above here. I think he’s holed up at Madison Wood Preservers, right in Madison. I think that’s why they walked the last six miles, because it saved them nearly thirty miles of driving. Those big trucks they drive can’t get but about ten miles per gallon. They had to have had at least five trucks full of men here; it would have cost them twenty gallons of diesel to drive. Frye knows it would have cost virtually nothing for them to walk here.”
“He told me he was at Mount Pony,” I replied.
“Maybe he was lying? Maybe he wanted you to think he was, or maybe it gave some credibility to his position to say he was from there. I’m telling you Vic; every time he left here he went towards Madison, not towards Culpeper. The wood shop in Madison is the only place for miles and miles that could house and hide those kinds of vehicles and men.”
“Thanks Mom. I’m going to check out Mt. Pony first. If I don’t find him there, or any sign of him there, I’ll head to Madison Wood Preservers.”
We ate quickly, I hugged Mom and we all stood up to leave.
“Thanks Mom, for everything you do here.”
“Bring my grandson home Vic.”
“We’ll do it, Mom.”
We chose two Jeeps that had been built for off-road driving to make the trip. Leo and I rode in my favorite yellow off roader. It was a beautiful early fall day. By the time we got on the road it was a few minutes before three in the afternoon. I drove to the general area and pulled off to the side of the road. Both of the small SUV’s had wenches on their modified front bumpers.
“John, pull the leader on the wench cable up over the hood and clip it to the roll cage. We’re going to be going through some big holes. We go through them one at the time. Once I’m safely out, you can drop in. If either of us gets stuck, it’s going to be a mess getting out. You don’t want to have to wade in that water to get your cable”
After we’d both clipped the wench cables to the roll cages, I lowered the air pressure in my tires down to five PSI. “When tires are low on air pressure, the surface cups where it meets the road. When you’re in the mud, it helps keep your tires from sinking down in. It also helps give traction when climbing over big rocks,” I said, tossing John my air pressure gauge.
We turned onto the dirt road, shifted into four-wheel drive and headed towards the first obstacle. Way before I ever learned about this place, some farmer had made a pile of rocks across the path. There was no way to get around the rocks; the only option was to go over them. We always felt like it was a test. If your truck couldn’t make it over the pile, you didn’t have any business being back in here.
The rock pile was always much bigger than I expected, easily twelve feet high. I pulled to the side of the path and waved John up. “You go first. I’ll guide you,” I said as I climbed out of the truck and onto the rock-pile.
“Alright, put your front wheels here and give it some gas, until they’re up on this rock. Once you get up on it, stop and hold it there.” I said. John pulled up easily and bounced the front tires up as directed.
“Now, cut it hard right. You gotta bring the rear up where your front tires are now,” I said.
John turned the wheel and slowly accelerated. The rubber squealed on the rocks as the wheels spun. The whole Jeep started bouncing on the low-pressure tires. After just a couple seconds, the cold rocks heated up and the rubber of the tires softened. The now sticky wheels gained traction quickly. The rear of the truck hopped up on the rocks where his front tires had been previously, pushing the small truck a couple of feet forward on the pile before John got it stopped. “Good! Hard left, straighten up and give it hell. You’re over the worst of it. Don’t stop until you’re on the dirt on the other side,” I said.
John did as instructed. His Jeep bounced over the top of the rock pile, Marshall held on to the roll bar to keep from bouncing out of the small truck. Both of them hopped out and climbed the rock pile to watch me come over. I’d done this hundreds of times, but I’d always been in a pickup truck with a much longer wheelbase. I plotted my path up the rocks and pulled forward, nudging the pile with the front tires.
The yellow Jeep I was driving had a v6 engine and thirty-six inch tires. John’s red Wrangler was only a four-cylinder, with thirty-two inch tires. Between the extra power, more lift and my experience climbing this particular pile, I had much less trouble bouncing up over the barrier.
The path widened out on this side of the entrance obstacle. We rolled about fifteen miles per hour down the dirt road, winding back into the forest. There were hundreds of trails back here. I turned left and right, trying to get to the general area where I remembered running into that fence. At the top of one particularly steep hill, I stopped and again got out.
“At the bottom of this hill is a pretty ugly mud pit. Or at least, there always was when I’ve been here before. We’ve had a lot of rain, so I would expect it to be pretty bad. In the old days, we had to stick to the left side. If I remember right, there’s a big rock a foot or so underwater that will rip the rubber off your wheel. Hit it hard and don’t let up until you’re across.”
Back in the yellow Jeep, I said “Hang on,” and started down the hill. I left the truck in second gear and rolled down the hill hitting the hole at about twenty miles per hour. Muddy water sprayed out from the tires a dozen feet into the air before we bogged down. I smashed the accelerator to the floor and downshifted into first gear. The wheels spun, but we crawled inch by inch through the hole and out the other side. Once on firm ground, I pulled sideways on the trail so we could watch John. He drove the red Jeep down into the mud hole. He gave it hell, but the smaller Jeep just didn’t have enough power and traction to pull through the thick mud; it came to a stop in about three feet of cold muddy water. The water rolled in to the floorboards, both Marshall and John had to pick up their feet to keep their boots dry.
John reached up and unclipped the wench cable. He stood up in the driver’s seat and threw it to me on the bank while Leo maneuve
red the yellow Jeep around facing the hole. I connected our two cables and used my wench to reel them out of the mud.
“Almost had it mate!” I called to John. “I don’t think anyone could have made that hole in your Jeep. It’s just too small.”
“Story of my life, mate,” he replied.
It took almost an hour of searching to find the eight foot tall chain link and razor wire fence. Then it was just a matter of following the fence line until we found a gate. Every hundred feet there was a camera mounted on one of the fence posts, but none of them turned or moved or gave any indication that they were turned on or working at all.
When we got to where the guard shack had been we found it demolished. A section of chain link fence replaced the bar style gate that had been there. The fence section had been “sewn” to the existing edge of the fence with a huge piece of chain, the ends were padlocked together. In the middle of the access road they’d driven a fence post right through the foundation of the guard shack and then another one on the other side of the lane. A ten foot span of fence made up the gate.
“I’m going to go knock and see if anyone is home.” I said, getting out of the muddy yellow Jeep.
I walked a few feet up to the gate and gingerly touched it, thinking maybe it was electrified. It was not. I put my hands on the gate and shook it several times violently.
“Frye!” I yelled. It was just my normal voice; apparently I’d lost my ability to enhance it when I lost the rest of my powers.
“Frye!” louder still, as loudly as I could. I waited several minutes for any sign of movement, before drawing my pistol and shooting the lock holding the gate in place. It shattered and I easily unwound the chain and opened the gate.
“Let’s go knock on the front door,” I said, hopping back in the Jeep and starting it up.
We idled in first gear through the hole in the fence. I purposely shot the fence. Marshall could have easily and quietly torn the lock from the chain. I’m not sure a zombie could detect that low power usage or from how far, but I wanted to make the noise. I wanted to let Frye know we were here.
About a mile down a well worn paved road we came to the first intersection. I’d worked on several installations like this; I had a feeling this road was a big circle. When I was in college I worked for a government contractor doing mechanical work. Most government facilities were all from the same blueprints. The US government hadn’t had the ability to come up with a new idea since the cold war.
We turned down the right side of the fork, curving around several small sheds and a larger equipment barn. The grass was not mowed, but it was easy to tell that six months ago the grounds had been pristine. Inside the barn we could see tractors and small landscaping equipment, a bobcat, a small front end loader with backhoe and a tractor with a bush hog.
We continued around the circle. Eventually we arrived at the inner fence around the main part of the facility. This fence was on rollers, designed to allow vehicle access. We stopped our Jeep there and dismounted.
I yelled for Frye to come out of there as loudly as I could. Once again I waited several minutes without a response. I didn’t hear a thing. Not a bang not a door closing, not a whisper.
The complex was built into the side of Mount Pony, right into the foot of the mountain. The main door was a long corridor that led from the flat spot for parking into the base of the mountain. Several stories up there were glass windows glinting in the afternoon sunlight.
“Leo, can you pop up there and look in those windows?” I asked.
Leo disappeared in a cloud, reappeared a foot or so above each window, peering inside as she fell, before apparating in front of the next window. When she’d gotten a good look inside, she appeared between John and me.
“The windows go back into the mountain. They’re tunnels six or eight feet long before they open into a room so I didn’t have much of a view. As far as I can tell there is nothing moving up there.” she reported.
“This is a nuclear bomb shelter, I’m sure that there’s an inner chamber that seals off, wouldn’t make a lot of sense for there not to be an inner chamber that sealed, away from those windows. Let’s go in,” I said.
We walked up to the solid steel door with some hesitation. It was slightly cracked. We all carried flashlights everywhere we went these days. Without a word we all pulled them out before Marshall opened the heavy door. The door opened easily enough, although there was an odd rattle as we opened it. Once we were all inside, I got an odd feeling.
“Don’t let that door…” I started to say as the door slammed shut. “Close.”
We all heard the steel bars locking the door closed drop into place. This was a nuclear shelter. Even Marshall couldn’t beat this door down. He smashed his fists into the door, barely denting it. The shockwave of that impact nearly deafened all of us.
“Marshall, we have to find another way out. At best you’ll dent the door into the locks and we’ll never get them to retract.”
Just then we heard a crash from the floor above us, muffled through the thick concrete separating the two stories of the structure.
“I don’t know what that is, but it sounds bad. Let’s get moving. We headed down the hall at a trot to be met with another slightly propped steel door, bigger and thicker than the first.
“Don’t let this one close,” I said flatly.
“Grab that stool, I’ll wedge it into the opening,” said John.
Marshall tossed him a stool, which he caught with one hand before removing his foot from holding the door open. He deftly slid the stool in place as the door softly closed against it.
The room on the other side of the door was a cafeteria and break room. It was surprisingly large and well lit. The fluorescent light looked weird to our eyes; we’d grown so accustomed to natural light or the LED glow from flashlights and lanterns. The light was so even and blue.
Leo asked, “There’s power working here. How do they still have working backup generators?”
There were two doors on either side of the far wall; we chose the door on the right after carefully moving through the space, looking for any sign of habitation. There was a large dish drop area, which was scrubbed and sparkling clean. The floors were shining; the table tops were wiped down.
“There’s no dust. It’s been five months, if no one was living here, there would be dust everywhere, especially with the doors propped open. And why would you prop the doors open?’ Leo asked.
“I don’t know, but Frye isn’t here. Let’s find a way out and head over towards Madison Wood Preservers. If we can get up to those windows on the second floor maybe we can climb out. Otherwise, let’s see if we can find a control room to open the outside doors.” I said.
I listened at the door for a second and upon hearing nothing, opened it up. It opened into a large auditorium that was full of people. Every seat in the house had a body sitting in it. Every person sitting straight up, hands on their knees, the picture of perfect posture. On the stage at the center of the small arena was a man with graying hair in a military uniform, holding a small blonde haired boy by the hand.
Every head in the auditorium turned, twisting unnaturally to look at the sound of the . When they saw me, they stood up as one mass and started slowly shambling up the stairs towards me. In unison they let out a guttural moan, “Tooooooooookes.” The sound was eerily low and rumbling.
This entire scene was set up to taunt me and it worked. I flew into a rage. I saw red everywhere. I drew my hatchet and started down the stairs, smashing heads. When my hatchet got stuck I resorted to my fists. I grabbed them, threw them and punched them. I killed several with a single punch to the nose. I felt the bones in my hands break, knit back together and break again. The pain drove me that much harder, fueled my anger.
I was about half way down the stairs using an arm I’d ripped off to club and stab anything in my way. I felt a hand on my shoulder, whirled to grab it when I felt the first mouth close down on my forearm. I yanked my arm f
ree, enraged further and threw the zombie behind me into the crowd pushing up the steps. They fell like bowling pins and I waded down into them stomping on their heads, smashing their brains with my boot.
There were zombies filing in behind me. The further I went the more they pressed in on me. A mouth closed in on my arm, another on my leg. It was just like the fight outside the house, only this time Max wasn’t there to save me.
That’s when I felt something slip inside my head. I was reminded of that day at the house when I was battered and broken and Watley’s men attacked the house. Suddenly I could see my aura again. I twisted in the hands holding me and saw Marshall using his arms like battering rams, beating his way towards me. Leo was running down the tops of the seat backs, to get to the isle I was in, in an attempt to get to me from the side.
My rage calmed. A sense of ease washed over me and I felt peace. Peace that I hadn’t felt since all of this started. The zombies that had their teeth sunk into me crumpled to the ground. The zombies had lifted me up like a crowd surfer. When my armor appeared, I became toxic to their touch. All of the zombies holding me died simultaneously, I fell to the ground in a heap. I felt Marshall’s huge hand wrap mine up as he yanked me to my feet.
What Zombies Fear (Book 2): The Maxists Page 14