Primal Resurrection: A Whiskey Tango Foxtrot Novel: Book 8

by W. J. Lundy

  The red-haired man locked eyes with Sean then turned back to Henry. “I reckon I can spare a meal for your horses,” the man said with a grin.

  Chapter 8

  Coldwater Compound, Michigan Safe Zone

  The MRAP lunged forward into the dog run, impacting hard with the crowd ahead of it. Primals bounced off the tubular steel brush guard as others were caught in the heavy-tread tires and pulled to the ground. The MRAP slowed but continued to lurch forward as the vehicle’s big wheels ground through bodies and caught traction on the frozen ground. Brad flinched at the sounds of bones breaking and skulls popping under the weight of the seventeen-ton vehicle. He cringed, knowing that each of the snaps and pops was a once-human body being destroyed.

  “She does okay in hordes of zombies if you keep the speed up,” Palmer said, not taking his head off the Primal-covered path ahead. The man held the wheel steady like he was driving through thick drifts of snow as they approached the break in the wire. “The turns can get tricky; these vehicles have such a high center of gravity they want to tip on ya in a sharp turn.”

  Brad grunted and reached out for a handhold to steady himself as the vehicle bounced over another bunch of infected. “Well, let’s not roll over then,” he said, gasping for air after being thrust back into the seat.

  Palmer made the turn through the break in the fence and had begun to straighten the wheel when a mortar struck just to their front, tossing mud and blood across the windshield. Palmer flipped on the wipers, and when the grime cleared, Brad saw a bit of wire frag embedded in the glass block to his front.

  “Son of a bitch!” Palmer shouted, pointing at the chunk of broken glass. “You know how hard it is to find replacement glass for these things?” He cussed again. Mashing the gas and cutting the wheel through the mob, he navigated into the open ground before cutting back toward the field full of infected. Another mortar struck just to their right. Palmer ignored it, keeping the MRAP on course. He shook his head saying, “It’s a real cowardly way to attack a place, letting the zombies do all the heavy lifting.”

  Brown pulled himself into the cab. “Can those bombs hurt us?” he shouted over the roar of the engine and screaming infected outside.

  “Nope,” Palmer answered without looking back. “Even a direct hit from those little mosquito bombs won’t hurt this girl. It would take some real arty to penetrate big Bertha—No offense, ma’am,” he said, throwing a halfhearted nod toward Chelsea. The driver cut the wheel again; this time Brad felt it lean to one side before Palmer corrected and straightened them out. They approached a snow-covered incline and Brad could feel the wheels slip as they pushed through the mass of Primals and deep icy snow.

  The ride grew smoother and, leaning forward, Brad could see they’d moved over the high embankment and onto a blacktop road covered with a thin layer of snow. Palmer kept the bearing for another two hundred feet before he pointed at the door mirror on Brad’s side of the MRAP. The factory was fading behind them.

  “They’re following just like we wanted,” Palmer said. “Market is just ahead. You want me to pull right up on it?”

  “You sure they don’t have anything that can hurt us?” Brad asked.

  Palmer shook his head. “Only thing I’m sure of is if you unass this truck, them damn zombies will be making a quick meal out of you.”

  Brad acknowledged the comment and dipped his head forward. “Hell then, yeah, take us right up to it. Getting smoked by anti-tank weapons gotta beat getting eaten by a Primal.”

  “I knew I liked you.” Palmer laughed.

  The man slowed the vehicle as he approached an intersection that was only identifiable by a stop sign flapping in the wind. Palmer came to a hard stop, ensuring the Primals were still following, before he cranked the wheel hard and turned them onto a road heading north. “Store is just ahead. Used to be a Mom and Pop gas station. Pumps are all dry now. Store was picked over for anything useful months ago. Mostly zombies will be lurching around, but keep an eye on the tree lines for the fast ones.”

  Brad looked in the mirror and could see that the mass of infected were still pursuing them when the vehicle again slowed and veered into the market’s parking lot. It wasn’t much: a blue-sided building with a pair of gas pumps out front. Every window in the place was broken. A pair of burned-out cars sat rusted in parking spaces. In the front, the large storefront was destroyed, the doors missing and shelves knocked over so that it was possible to see deep into the building. Even the glass doors on the coolers were shattered, allowing a clear view behind them.

  Looking to the roofline, he couldn’t see any movement. Brad ordered Palmer to stop, and he climbed into the back of the MRAP.

  “We can’t hold long,” Palmer said. “Bertha has got horsepower, but let too many of them things wrap up around us and get to pushing and grinding… well, too many of these things and she starts to lose traction in the gore, if you know what I mean.”

  Brad frowned. “Yeah, I think I know,” he said, moving to the center of the MRAP and reaching up for the hatch. The military-issue turret had been removed, and what used to be a glass-block-covered cupola had been replaced with a simple steel hatch with three hundred sixty degrees of viewing ports.

  Brad took a quick scan and couldn’t see any infected closer than a half mile, although they were closing on them fast. “We clear?” he called out to those below him.

  “Shit no!” Palmer screamed back. “Those things are getting closer by the second. If you’re intending on doing something stupid, you only a got a minute or two before they’re all over us.”

  “Okay. Well, cover me from those firing ports; I’m just going to open up for a closer look.” Brad waited for a response from the veteran trooper looking through windows below before he pulled back on the lock bar and pushed the hatch up behind him. Slowly, he lifted his head up and into the brisk cold air. He could only hear the distant gunfire and the screams from the approaching Primals. He panned left and right and saw sets of heavy vehicle tracks in the snow.

  He dipped back into the compartment and pointed. “Palmer, take us over there.”

  Leaning forward to see the ground ahead, the driver did as instructed and stopped just over the tracks. Brad took another scan of the market. The building was a total loss and empty. He could see all the way through to the back walls. There were multiple tracks where at least three trucks had turned around. No boot prints on the ground, so they must have parked close to the building’s walls then climbed directly to the roof—maybe using a ladder. Finding no sign of the mortar team, Brad pulled back into the vehicle, slammed the hatch shut, and returned to his seat.

  “What do you make of the tracks, Palmer?” Brad asked.

  The driver strained against the windshield and said, “Pickup trucks, civilian, probably 4x4 and loaded heavy if you wanted my full opinion.”

  “You think it’s the mortar crew?”

  “Who else would it be? They probably saw us coming and hauled ass. Which also indicates they ain’t got weapons that can kill us when we’re all buttoned up,” Palmer said. “You want me to follow them?”

  Brad shook his head. “Not a good idea to follow them. They’d lead us into an ambush. They had to have seen us coming, and it’s what I would do.”

  Brown leaned forward again. “But like the man said… we’re armored up. They can’t touch us.”

  The soldier in the back laughed. “Yeah, frigging armor, something as small as a bucket of paint thrown at the windshield can blind and disable us. If they left tracks it’s because they wanted to be followed,” the man grunted. “They’re gone; let them run.”

  Brad pursed his lips and nodded at hearing the solider speak for the first time, agreeing with his assessment. “He’s right. We’ve lost the element of surprise, and we’re too small to go after them.”

  Palmer pointed to the slow-moving zombies that were beginning to fill the lot and surround the MRAP. “Well, we can’t go back to the factory, not for a while anyway. No
t till we lose this herd.”

  Brad exhaled and nodded his head in agreement. “You have a suggested hide spot? A place we can hole up in until things die down?”

  Palmer grinned. “I know a spot.”

  “Good, take us there but follow those vehicle tracks for a bit. Cut the trail in a good spot where we can lose this pack. These boys want to be followed, let the creepers follow them. With any luck they’ll chew them up in their sleep.”

  The driver laughed again, shaking his head. “That’s savage, Sergeant, downright savage. You sure we ain’t related?”

  Chapter 9

  Southern Ohio, The Dead Zone

  The strangers led them beyond the narrow railroad pass and deep into the woods to the north. The trail narrowed to where the horses barely fit between the thick pines. Sean was riding with his rifle cradled in his arms, Henry on the horse just behind him. “Where the hell we going?” Sean asked.

  “It’s not much farther,” Henry answered.

  “You trust these people?”

  Henry laughed and shook his head at the comment. “What right do we have to be asking for trust? These people don’t know you, and you don’t know them. If I was in your shoes, I wouldn’t trust a one of ’em, because I guarantee that’s exactly how Eli’s boys are thinking about you right this minute.”

  This time it was Sean who laughed. “Well, hell if that don’t give me a warm and fuzzy feeling.”

  “Regardless of your degree of fuzziness, their place is just ahead.”

  Sean watched as the trees began to thin, and they were led down an incline and onto a blacktop county road where grass and small trees were sprouting up through the cracks. They passed several empty and burned-out homes overgrown with weeds and unhedged bushes. Mailboxes sat on the side of the road with doors closed; he imagined what he would find if he opened one. Would there be anything inside? Bills? Birthday cards? How long did life go on before the mail stopped? They passed a house that looked almost completely untouched. A car on flat tires sat in the driveway, and leaf-covered windows reflected light.

  “All dead or gone,” a man said behind him, looking at the same house. “No point in wondering.”

  Sean turned to see Eli moving his horse close. The man had been following Sean’s stare toward the home. “Did you know them?” Sean asked.

  The red-haired man frowned. “Not directly, but we shared a road. I have a ranch just back in those woods. It’s no secret to anyone that lived on this road. My place is plenty big enough to support a hundred men, but outside of my family, nobody came knocking on Eli Baker’s door.”

  “Nobody?” Sean asked suspiciously.

  Eli shook his head. “Not a one.”

  “I find that hard to believe,” Sean said. “You must be some kind of asshole to have people avoid you even at the end of the world.”

  Eli laughed and pulled a canteen from his belt. “Hell, you might be right about that. You can believe what you want, mister,” Eli said. “I’m telling you, when things went to hell, I called for all of my kin to come join me at the ranch. I sent my son up and down this road telling folks to pack up their shit and come stay with us until things calmed down. I got everything out there… beef, water… plenty for anyone that wants to contribute.”

  Sean looked at the man, his brow tightening. “Why would you invite so many? Most folks I know would want to stay hidden.”

  Shaking his head, Eli continued. “I saw what was going on, saw what was happening on the news. This wasn’t some flu that we could hide from. No, I knew right away this was something different. I took inventory of my own situation. I had plenty of food, I had plenty of beds, and I had plenty of guns and ammo, but what I didn’t have was people.”

  “So, you thought you’d recruit them?”

  “Nah, nothing like that; just figured the more people I could get on the ranch, the more manpower we’d have. Strength in numbers and all that.”

  “And you said nobody took you up on the offer?”

  Eli took another drink from the canteen before offering it to Sean, who declined. “It was that damn army of yours,” he said, putting the canteen back in his belt.

  “I’m Navy, not Army,” Sean said.

  The man grinned and nodded. “Fair enough, but still they’re responsible for a lot of dead, if you ask me. They came down this same road in their big covered trucks, rounded people up, and left with ’em. When they were done, there wasn’t a single occupied home on this road. Said they were taking folks to a FEMA camp up by Athens, Ohio.”

  “But they skipped over you?”

  “Mostly. Guess with everything that was going on, they didn’t have time to argue with a bunch of hillbillies back in the sticks. Their commander told me about all the bad things that would happen to us if we refused to go with them. Told us how if the infected didn’t get us, we’d probably starve. Yeah, that son of a bitch all but promised me my family wouldn’t survive the winter.”

  “Well, guess you proved him wrong,” Sean said.

  “Yeah, hell of a prize, right?” Eli mumbled.

  “The FEMA camp… you ever find out what happened to it?”

  “Yeah, last spring I took a couple boys up to try and find out.” He dipped his head and looked to the shoulder of the road. “The place is a graveyard. Nothing I’d recommend visiting.”

  Sean nodded. “I don’t need the details. I’ve seen enough overrun camps to last me a lifetime.”

  Eli sighed and pointed ahead. “We’re here.”

  Sean could see where a trail broke off the blacktop and wound down to a shallow stream hardly a foot deep. One of the younger Baker boys was already leading his horse down to the water. “We use the stream to cover our tracks.”

  Sean nodded then took his horse onto the narrow path to follow the boy. They turned and rode downstream for close to a mile before exiting onto another trail that jutted out of the water. Sean saw a wooden gazebo, a set of polished picnic tables, and a pair of armed men on the shoreline. Beyond the table were half a dozen RVs and kids running through a field, kicking a ball. One of the Baker boys rode up to the field and dismounted from his horse, laughing with the children.

  Eli waved to the guards then pointed to the field. “We got nearly ten families here. Most of ’em my kin; others are friends from up north that came in with family of their own.”

  Sean looked left and right. “I don’t see any walls.”

  “Don’t need ’em; it’s the creek. Something about the zombies—they don’t like water. The ranch here is set up on a sort of island. The river makes a V about five miles north of here. The creek running along the west side and a wider river to the east join back together about a mile south. All that fresh mountain water wraps right around this ranch like a soggy blanket. We got water on all sides, and we knocked out the only bridge crossing the river. Unless the zombies are actively pursuing someone, they won’t cross the water. Only time we got to worry is when it freezes up, but we been lucky so far.”

  “They’re hydrophobic,” Sean said.

  “Hydrophobic? What? Like rabies?”

  “Yeah, something like that. Met a doctor couple years back; he said they share traits with the rabies virus. Mad as hell, but they hate the bright lights and water. Like a rabid wolf, all they want to do is kill and feed.”

  Eli nodded. “Guess that makes enough sense to me.” The man stopped his horse and dismounted, waiting for the others to do the same. They were on a short rise now, and Sean could see a pair of red wooden barns next to a long, two-story ranch house. On the roofs of the buildings were men with scoped rifles. Sean noticed them but didn’t comment on it.

  Handing the reins of his horse to a younger man, Eli looked at Henry and pointed to the barn farthest from the house. “You can put up your horses and men there. I’ll have the boys bring you out some warm water so you can get cleaned up before supper.”

  Sean went to speak, not liking the idea of being separated and confined to one space, but he could
tell from the look on Henry’s face that they should just head to the barn. Sean buttoned his lip and stayed put until the Baker men moved off toward the ranch house. Henry looked around then pointed to the barn before leading the way. “He’s telling the truth, you know,” Henry said.

  “About?” Sean asked.

  “The Army and the FEMA camps. It’s not the first time I’ve heard Eli’s story. I bumped into him about a year back. He was out looking for survivors. I was out looking for deer. I give Eli a load of shit, but he’s good people. ’Bout like Dan Cloud, I reckon.”

  “How many other people like this are out here?” Sean asked.

  Shaking his head, Henry stopped and turned back. “To be honest, I didn’t even know the Bakers were still out here. Most of the holdouts are dead or gone, moved on someplace to the north in search of safe areas. I used to know of a half dozen families. Most are gone now.” Henry walked into the barn and moved his horse to an empty stall. “I used to drive out this way quite often when the roads were still open. I guess I just stopped after a while.”

  Sean and the others followed the old man in, beginning the process of clearing gear and saddles from their horses. “What happened to them?” Sean asked as he tossed a heavy saddle over a rail. “The holdouts, I mean.”

  Henry tipped his head to a side as he thought about a response. He bit at his lower lip and removed a flannel blanket from his horse’s back without speaking.

  Sean grimaced, saying, “I’m sorry. I guess I know what happened.”

  The old man turned back, pulling the pipe from his pocket. This time he lit a match to it before putting it to his lips. “It’s okay. I don’t mind talking about them,” he said between puffs. “You know, to be fair, I was spared most of the details. It’s like them folks down in Crabtree: one day it was a bustling community, next time I rode past it was gone.” Henry left his horse in the stall, then he walked across the barn and found a spot on a bench carved from a wide log. He looked down at his boots and frowned. “But there were others, you know. I wasn’t always so lucky. I’ve lost good people and good friends.”