Surviving the Dead (Book 4): Fire In Winter

by James Cook

  “Don’t worry, friend. Very soon, you and I are going to have a nice long chat. But for now, you’re going to do exactly as I say. I’m going to put this tape over your mouth, and then I’m going to stuff you in the back of that vehicle you just tried to steal. My friend here is going to keep an eye on you. If you try anything, he’ll throw you to the infected and watch them eat you alive. Any questions?”

  He shook his head vigorously.

  “Good.” I ripped off some tape and sealed it over his mouth. Hicks helped me load him in the back and took a seat nearby, rifle trained on his head.

  “You good to go?” I asked. He gave a thumbs-up.

  I opened the bench containing the dead man’s gear and took out the paracord and the water bladder. After snipping a short section of cord, I stuffed the rest in my coat pocket and then cut off the top of the bladder. On my way out, I noticed Hicks staring at me.

  “Fishing tackle,” I said. “The bait’s outside.”

  “Gotcha.”

  Unhitching the trailer was the easy part. I wasn’t worried about leaving it behind; it would only slow us down, and we could come back for it after we dealt with the horde. Getting what I needed from the thief’s dead body, however, was markedly more difficult.

  The next couple of minutes were gruesome, but necessary.

  THREE

  The others were right where I left them.

  Thompson and Sanchez were arguing, probably about whether or not to send someone to search for me, but stopped when they heard the transport approaching. A few infected in the back turned and stared at me hesitantly, as though unsure which meal to pursue before deciding canned food wasn’t their thing.

  As they turned back to grope uselessly at the pawnshop’s roof, I spun the transport around in a wide circle, backed up close to them, and jumped out. The next part was going to be tricky, and I would need to work fast.

  Trigger Happy, as I had designated the dead thief, was chained to transport’s rear brush cage like a prize marlin. I unhitched him and dragged his body closer to the horde, about thirty feet away. The paracord tether on his ankles drew taut as I stretched it as far as it would go. Several dozen ghouls in the back caught the scent of fresh meat and began shambling my way.

  “That’s right, fuckers. Come and get it.”

  From underneath my coat I took out the dead man’s water sack. I had it filled with his blood and tied off the open end with a piece of cord. It was messy work hanging him upside down and opening a vein, but critical to my plan. I hadn’t drained him completely, just enough to fill the bag. The cold was already making the blood lumpy and viscous.

  I turned the bag upside down, punctured it with my knife, and aimed it over the ghouls’ heads. A strong push on the back sent a thin stream of blood arcing through the air. I waved it back and forth like a fire hose, dousing as many as I could.

  The effect was immediate.

  To the infected, fresh blood is akin to a bonfire on a moonless night. They can’t track scents over long distances like animals, but at close range, the smell whips them into a feeding frenzy. Every ghoul in the horde caught the scent and snapped their faces toward the crimson fluid raining from the sky. I heard a thousand ear-splitting cracks as they began chomping their teeth together, ravenous eyes bulging, noses turned up to triangulate the scent. They turned and shuffled in a tidal shift, inevitable and strong, bent on a single purpose.

  When the bag was halfway empty, I set it down, grabbed Trigger Happy by his hair, lifted his head, and slashed his throat. With no heartbeat to pump out his blood, I had to lift him up by his belt and swing him back and forth in a wide arc. Maroon liquid splashed the snow, still warm enough to melt the ice beneath. When the gout slowed to a trickle, I dropped the body and splashed it thoroughly with the remaining blood from the bag. The ghouls grew closer, advancing within twenty feet.

  Sprinting back to the cab, I dropped the water sack and fired two shots in the air to make sure I had everyone’s attention. Clearing the ladder in two steps, I slammed the door and gunned the engine. The cab didn’t have a rearview mirror, obstructed as it was by the passenger carriage, but the mirrors on the door showed me what I needed to see. The horde had forgotten about the men behind them, slowly converging on the dead body in the street. I eased into first gear, intending to roll forward with the speedometer’s needle bouncing just above the zero peg, but the transmission ground angrily as I backed off the clutch. The transport hitched and convulsed, caught a gear, and lurched forward a few feet before blowing a puff of oily smoke from the exhaust stack and stalling out.

  “Shit. That’s not gonna work.”

  I cranked it again, shifted gears with authority, and revved forward at ten miles an hour for about fifty meters before stopping. The engine idled in neutral while I stared at the side view mirror waiting for the horde to reappear. There was nothing but snow.

  Heartbeats hammered in my ears, barely audible above the ceaseless wind. I mumbled impatiently, cursing and tapping my fingers, but the mirror remained white and empty. I counted to sixty, then seventy. Eighty. Ninety. At a hundred, I decided to run back and try to get the horde’s attention again. But just as I opened the door, I saw the first swaying figure appear followed by many others. It occurred to me then the temperature had dropped, and the ghouls weren’t moving as fast as they usually did. A toddler could have outrun them.

  Impatience, Gabriel. It’s as good as stupidity. Slow down. Think.

  The dance went on for the better part of an hour, me driving a short distance ahead, the horde catching up, and the whole thing repeating. When the odometer told me I’d gone a mile, I stopped, jumped out, and cut the cord binding Trigger Happy to the transport. With the severed end in hand, I stared for a moment at the dead man’s body.

  Where it wasn’t covered in frozen brown blood, his skin had gone nearly as white as the falling snow. Even though he had tried to kill me, it felt wrong, somehow, just leaving him there without at least a word or two to mark his passing. I walked over and paused. The man’s blank eyes stared lifelessly at an indifferent sky. Not accusing, or pleading, or anything else. Just empty.

  Less than two hours ago, he had been a living man with a head full of memories, and hopes, and wants, and a life story. Once, some woman had held him close and cooed over him as new mothers do. Maybe his father had done the same, or maybe he didn’t. He might have relatives, or a wife, or children. I would never know. Now, he was just a sack of meat about to be devoured by a pack of ravening monsters. Probably not how he thought he would end the day. I went back to the transport, retrieved his shredded jacket, and laid it over him.

  “Sorry, fella. Should have thought twice before you reached for your gun. I gave you a chance to live, but you didn’t take it. Made it a case of you or me, and it damn sure wasn’t going to be me. For what it’s worth, you helped me rescue my men. That’s something, I guess.”

  Snowflakes fell on his dead eyes, sticking to the dry surface. Left there long enough, he would freeze until some scavenger came along to feast on him. I doubted the infected would wait that long.

  Back in the cab, I leaned my head close to the small window to the passenger compartment. “Hang on in there, Hicks. It’s about to get bumpy.”

  “I’m set. Go for it,” he shouted back.

  I gunned the engine and swung the transport in a broad circle, plowing through the field next to the highway. As I went over the ditch, I heard the prisoner bounce off the floor a few times and let loose a muffled shout. The frozen earth beneath the snow provided good traction for the transport’s oversized wheels, and I managed to push the engine close to its top speed of thirty miles an hour on my way back to the pawnshop. The horde drifted by on my right, their forms ghostly gray in the pale distance. Once around them, I bounced over the ditch again, straightened the wheels, and put the accelerator to the floor.

  “You alright back there?” I shouted.

  “I’m fine.”

  “What about
the prisoner?”

  “Still breathing.”

  Good enough. As I neared the east side of town, I heard the unmistakable crack of gunfire echoing ahead. M-4’s, not the deeper, malicious clatter of AK’s. I gave the horn two long blasts to let them know I was coming. The gunfire ceased immediately.

  When the pawnshop came in view, the troops had already climbed down and were busy dispatching the remaining infected. Most of them were cripples and crawlers, too damaged to move as quickly as their more able-bodied brethren. Once the main force had passed beyond sight, the noise of the living in close proximity had kept these few stragglers from leaving. I parked the transport, left the engine running, hopped out, and drew my falcata.

  “You want some help out there?” Hicks shouted, face near a window grate.

  “Nope. Got it under control. Just hang tight.”

  The first infected I came to was a male, big, clothes long since disintegrated. Most of its left arm, shoulder, and the left side of its face were gone. Big chunks bitten out of the legs, right calf muscle just a thin strip of gristle. Much of his skin had sloughed away revealing grayish black muscle tissue beneath. He had been dead a long time. Maybe since the beginning. He stepped strongly on one leg, stumbled along with a little hop on the other, nearly lost his balance, righted himself, and started again. The one hand he could still raise reached for me, fingers curled into claws. His teeth clacked together again and again, the sign of a ghoul who hadn’t eaten in a long time. I let him get within a few feet before I hacked his arm off just above the elbow. He didn’t seem to notice. My next swing came straight over the top, splitting his head down the middle. A quick boot to the gut freed my blade and sent the ghoul tumbling backward in a limp heap.

  Another came on behind him, oblivious to its cohort’s death. I set my feet and cut its head off with a single backhanded swipe. Its body stiffened, shuddered, and dropped. There were a few dozen others, but I only got nine of them. The two squads of soldiers cut down the rest of the ghouls with brutal efficiency, always working in pairs, alternating between attacking and defending.

  Except for Eric.

  He always fought alone, a short Y-shaped length of wood in one hand, his thin rapier-like sword in the other, darting in and out, each lunge piercing an eye socket and sending a walker to its final rest. He was well practiced and could put down infected twice as fast as any man in the crew. Most of them laughed at his choice of weapons until they saw him in action and witnessed the swift, deadly expertise with which he worked. Now, they stayed out of his way.

  When it looked clear enough, I called the crew over to the transport and gave them a brief rundown of my encounter with the two thieves.

  “You know,” Eric said, “it did seem a bit odd to me, you swinging a dead body around. I wondered where you found him.”

  “Now you know. All right, gentlemen, we need to go pick up the trailer and load as much stuff as we can before the horde gets back. Try not to kill my prisoner until I’ve had a chance to question him. Got it?”

  I got a round of acknowledgments as the men broke away and filed into the transport.

  It took less than ten minutes to retrieve the trailer, re-hitch it, and begin loading it up with salvage. Eric and I stayed busy moving among the men, pointing out which items to bring and which to leave, triaging what was most valuable and in demand. We cleaned out all of the computers, paper, and office supplies in the insurance agency, most of the children’s clothes and winter wear in the boutique, and then moved on to a nearby hardware store. Unlike many such businesses, this one didn’t look to have been looted too badly. As we cleaned it out, I felt the mental gears begin to hum along, singing a tune I wouldn’t have listened to under other circumstances.

  “What do you say we hit up the gun shop on the other side of town?” I asked Eric. “Just for shits and giggles.”

  He thought about it for a second. “You might be onto something. This place hasn’t been looted very much, except by the Free Legion. They just took the food and medical supplies. The Midwest Alliance kept them flush with weapons and ammo, so they might not have bothered with the gun shop. Or maybe they just booby trapped it and left it for later. That seems more their MO.”

  “MO?”

  “Yeah. You know, modus operandi.”

  “You a cop now, Riordan?”

  He glared, but it only lasted a few seconds before he grinned sheepishly. “I guess I’ve been hanging out with Sarah too much lately.”

  I laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Sarah’s good people. Keep at it, you might learn something. Now let’s round up the crew and see what loot we can find.”

  Finished with the office and the consignment shop, the crew piled into the transport and we set out for the small gun shop I spotted on a side road leading into town. It was in the same direction as I had led the horde, so we wouldn’t have much time. I let Eric drive while I knelt on the bench and held a quick conference with Sanchez and Thompson through the small window.

  “As soon as this thing stops, have four men set up a perimeter. Me, Riordan, and Fuller will breach the door and do a safety walkthrough. Once I give the all-clear, have your men start loading everything they can carry, starting with ammunition. Then guns, knives, clothes, holsters, anything that looks useful. I want this place cleaned out. Understood?”

  They both nodded.

  “Now don’t forget, this used to be Legion held territory. There could be traps anywhere. Any of your men see something that doesn’t look right, make sure they know to step away and call me over. Got it?”

  “Yes sir.” Thompson said.

  Sanchez nodded. “You got it, chief.”

  “All right. We’re almost there. Brief your men and stand by.” I sat back down and turned to Riordan. “You’re familiar with Legion traps right?”

  “Yep. Disarmed a few, once upon a time.”

  “You mind sweeping the entrance? Make sure there’s no surprises?”

  “Not at all. But if I end up as a grease spot, scoop me up and put me in a bag, will you? Make sure Allison has something to bury.”

  “Just watch yourself and remember what I taught you, and you’ll be fine.”

  When we arrived at the shop, I rapped my knuckles on the window grate and shouted the order to get ready. Sanchez and Thompson called out affirmatives and began barking instructions at their men. Brakes squealed as the transport bounced over the curb to the parking lot and Eric slowed the big vehicle to a halt. I already had my door open before we stopped, one foot on the ladder, weapon at the ready.

  When the big tires finally rolled to a halt, I hit the ground and swept the parking lot with my rifle, scanning for movement. I didn’t see anything, but with the storm worsening, visibility was extremely poor. There could be infected anywhere, or more raiders. We needed to make this quick.

  “Clear,” I called out. Eric repeated the same from his side.

  Moving in tandem, we began converging on the shop’s entrance. Behind us, Page, Hicks, Cole, and Holland formed a perimeter around the back of the transport. Fuller followed us to the entrance and stacked up behind me against the storefront. Eric took up position on the other side and began checking the door for traps. Near the bottom, he spotted something connected to one of the hinges and gently brushed the snow away from the wall, revealing dead brown grass beneath.

  “Sneaky motherfuckers…” He squatted down to get a closer look. I tapped Fuller on the shoulder and motioned him back.

  “What have you got, Eric?” I asked.

  “Same setup I’ve seen a couple of other places. Pipe bomb full of Pyrodex and ball bearings with a shotgun shell trigger. AKA, a fucking homemade claymore. It’s been out here forever, probably doesn’t even work now.”

  “Don’t take any chances,” I said. “You need help disarming it?”

  “Nope. I got it, just give me a minute.”

  He worked slowly, moving with meticulous care. His back blocked me from seeing his hands, but I w
as fairly certain he was disconnecting the tripwire and removing the trigger mechanism. It’s what I would have done, anyway. After less than a minute, Eric let out a breath and upended the pipe into the snow, spilling out the ball bearings.

  “Okay. The door looks clear, but we’ll need to open it slowly. There might be another bomb on the other side.”

  “Hey Gabe?” Fuller said from behind me.

  “What?”

  “Why are we wasting time disarming traps on a door?”

  I frowned at him over my shoulder. “You got a better idea?”

  He removed two concussion grenades from his vest and held them up. “Actually, I do.”

  I looked at the grenades and felt a flush creep up my neck. He was right, and I should have thought of it myself. Over two and a half years of conserving ordnance for life-or-death emergencies had made me stingy, and it hadn’t even occurred to me to just blow the door, along with any traps connected to it. I swallowed my pride and nodded.

  “You’re right. Good thinking, Fuller. Eric, fall back. We’ll breach with explosives.”

  He frowned at me and moved back. “That information would have been very useful two minutes ago. Y’know, before I risked my life disarming a bomb.”

  I ignored him and took cover, calling out to Fuller. “Whenever you’re ready, Private.”

  A second later, I heard the grenades clatter against the plexiglass doorway. Three seconds after, the detonations hit me with a one-two punch right in the chest. Peering around the corner of the transport, I saw the door lying flat on the ground a few feet into the darkness beyond the entrance. Some of the brickwork around the opening had crumbled, but otherwise it looked structurally sound.

  “Let’s move.”

  We didn’t bother stacking up beside the entrance before going in. If there was anyone inside, they definitely knew we were coming. Eric took point and led the way through the smoke and dust, calling out a reminder to turn on our tactical lights. I had already done so, as had Fuller. Once through, Eric peeled off to the right, rifle up, barrel swiveling wherever his eyes tracked. White LEDs lanced through the darkness. I broke left with Fuller close behind.