The Romero Strain (Book 2): The Dead, The Damned & The Darkness

by Ts Alan

  The seeming charismatic leader responded from atop the terrace, “Is this how you start off a negotiation, with accusations?” Kane smiled slightly but pleasantly, giving no sign of treachery. “We are as eager as you to find those who were stolen from us, so why would we want to kill you when it would be mutually beneficial for us to work together?”

  “Then the two men with the rifles in the library above are not your men?” J.D. asked.

  Michael asked Kane, “What is he talking about?” However, Kane did not reply, but kept his focus on J.D.

  “The only men I have are those before you,” he assured J.D., the leader’s voice reflecting nothing but genuine sincerity. However, J.D. knew differently.

  “Then perhaps,” J.D. responded, “we should ask them?” J.D. then called into his all ready active headset, “Lieutenant, bring the two captives forward.”

  A moment later Ryan Duncan, a pistol in one hand and his other in a sling, brought two restrained men with pillowcases over their heads to the bottom of the terrace steps, and made them kneel.

  J.D. removed the men’s hoods to reveal two frightened men with Gorilla tape across their mouths. Both men looked to the man at the top of the stairs with bewildered expressions, one struggling to call out.

  With a shocked look Michael commented, “Jesus, Kane. What have you done?”

  J.D. heard Michael’s remark and realized he was unaware of their leader’s plot.

  Kane pulled his sidearm free and pointed it at J.D. The others followed suit by aiming their rifles at J.D.’s men. Paul, James and Ryan returned the threat with their weapons at the ready. Michael stood flabbergasted not knowing what to do.

  “I have the high ground, Colonel. Now tell your men to drop their weapons and back the hell up. We just want you,” he told J.D., and then cocked the hammer of his pistol as a threat.

  “Kane, are you insane? These men can help us,” Michael burst out.

  “Mind your place,” Kane notified Michael, “or suffer the consequences.” The man turned his attention back to J.D. “Now, Colonel!”

  J.D. smiled knowingly as he raised his hands as four of Kane’s men cautiously made their way down the short terrace stairway. He looked up at Kane and said, “Kill the shepherd and the sheep will scatter.”

  A shot rang out from the window above. Blood and brain matter splattered, spraying into the morning air. The bullet ripped through Kane Dinger’s skull, and then struck one of his men through the back who had been directly in the bullet’s path. The three remaining men attempted to strike back, only one managing to get a shot off before J.D.’s men gunned them down, leaving Michael and the two restrained men alive.

  J.D. and his men slowly backed away from the corpse strewn staircase, momentarily keeping their weapons aimed at Michael before turning and running.

  Michael was dumbfounded at all that had transpired and overwhelmed to be alive. He watched as J.D. and his men fled to their trucks parked on 40th Street. He didn’t move to the bound men until the colonel’s vehicles sped away. Then it struck him to why they had departed so hastily when they had the upper hand. Day Stalkers!

  ***

  It had only been two days since the Bryant Park confrontation when Michael Panton brought his group of fourteen to the armory gates for an unconditional surrender. His fellow survivors were mostly made up of women and teenagers. Of the adults, there were only four men remaining, including Michael. The two who had planned on ambushing J.D. from the library window were not amongst them. Michael revealed that they had been expelled from the group after being beaten nearly to death, the collective retaliation for the two attempting to take control of their group.

  However, J.D. had only allowed the group inside the perimeter fence under guard, until he could be certain of Michael’s intention. He had also placed his best sharpshooter on the armory’s roof just in case of any trouble, like he had done at the library. Doctor France protested greatly against the commander’s decision to leave the ragged group exposed outside to the elements as well as possible attack from Stone, when it was clear to him that their deteriorated condition posed no threat to the armory. J.D. was firm in his decision, there were just too many refugees all at once to allow them into the inner sanctum, and it was a risk he was not willing to take. He ordered the doctor to conduct his medical exams outside and to see to their feeding.

  For over three hours J.D. and James repeatedly questioned Michael about his group, their deceased leader, where they originated from, and how many of his people were kidnapped. Michael explained that he had only been with the group four months, having arrived with his niece who had been one of the five kidnap victims a month after their arrival. Kane Dinger had ruled the group with authoritarian ways in dealing with threats to his community from inside and out, and only accepted lone survivors or small families. However, Michael told them, after Stone’s group attacked them and stole their children, Kane became increasingly deranged because of the loss, and was consumed with finding the men who had taken them. J.D. realized that Dinger was as equally maniacal and power hungry as Stone, and could not hold their deranged leader’s wrongs against them, especially since none of Kane’s goons were still a part of the group. J.D. allowed them into the fold. Michael volunteered to be a soldier in the war against Stone.

  22

  Norrie-Mills

  December 9, Day 243.

  J.D. knew that he and his men would not be able to make it back to the city before dark. It had taken them double the time to get to Mechanicville than it would have if the chaos of world’s end hadn’t made the journey longer, slower and more treacherous. They had used Route 87 for the most part to get to their destination, avoiding all but the outskirts of Albany by utilizing Route 787. Avoiding major cities was a must. They were one vehicle and four men. Avoidance with anything that could hamper or halt them in their journey was necessary. They had explored Mechanicville for several hours, and J.D. had been right; it was a choice location to relocate. The hydroelectric plant could provide for all their non-fossil fuel needs.

  On their journey and in their exploration of Mechanicville, they had not come across any survivors nor had they encountered any half-mutes. J.D. hadn’t truly expected to come across any humans, but he had anticipated confronting a few half-mutes lurking around the town.

  J.D. stood in front of the large roaring and crackling fire he had built, watching the orange flames leaping up like demons’ tongues licking at the dusk. The heat and beauty of the fire soothed his chilled bones, but not his mind. Like New York City, Mechanicville was also occupied with rotting zombie corpses. However, decaying zombies was not what was troubling him. What he had discovered on his solo search into a few buildings that piqued his interest, were the remains of several carcasses of eaten transmutes. The disturbing find was disconcerting and he knew that only a non-human predator was capable of taking down a transmute, and that was a half-mute. Though it had been distressing, he told no one of the discovery, not even Ryan. However, he did tell Ryan to keep the team on high alert because he had an uneasy feeling that half-mutes were about. The discovery of the mutilated and dined upon corpses of his half kin was concerning for another reason also. If they were going after a stronger prey as food, then they were becoming more aggressive, more desperate, as well as cunning. J.D. knew it could potentially be a threat for the survival of the transmutes as well as his own people.

  As the Stryker had made its way slowly through the park and into the tent camping area, they had spotted at least a dozen deer grazing. When he and his friends visited here before, they would always slow their vehicle and watch the deer that would gather at the break of the woods, just a few yards from the road’s edge. This evening there had been more than he had ever seen before, and it brought about opportunity. A deer could provide not only nourishment for many; it would also raise the morale of the armory’s inhabitants.

  J.D. was not a l
arge game hunter and therefore had no experience or knowledge of field dressing a kill, and neither did any of his men. Instead, he used his knowledge of anatomy, as he gently cut into the deer from belly to sternum as careful as possible as not to puncture the bladder or cut into the intestines. After discarding the parts that were inedible into the park garbage can that still stood at the edge of the road near the cabin’s driveway, they hung the beast up in a tree, securing it high enough that no animal could get to it.

  Ryan sat directly behind J.D. on the bench of the decaying, weather-stained picnic table, eating a strip of well-cooked venison. Although J.D. thought the deer was a bit gamey, it didn’t diminish the enjoyment he got from eating his portion medium rare. His desire for his barely cooked meat was by taste preference and not because of a transmute craving for raw meat. Though there were rumors that his night outings alone were to satisfy his transmute need to feed upon live animals, this was false. The few rats and other small game animals that he had captured were strictly for James’ wife and child.

  While Sergeant John Lott continued to cut more wood for the fire, Jonas McGann stood amongst the oak and hazelnut trees and rotting flora on the rise that helped obscure the cabin from the road. The stalwart young man, Lieutenant Alexander’s protégé, looked down the paved roadway toward the base of the incline—which had now begun to vanish into the fading light of the day—watching vigilantly for any intruders that would come up the hill. J.D. had doubted that anyone, or anything, would be in such a remote area with the chill of autumn taking its grip. Nevertheless, after his gruesome discovery in Mechanicville, he could not rule out the possibility, so he had assigned guard shifts just in case. J.D. was a firm believer in that you could never be too careful or too prepared, especially after the 34th Street ambush debacle.

  Jonas took his duty seriously. This was his first away mission. He had never gone out on any patrol, but had been assigned inside the armory to the communications center, as well as other menial duties. James knew he was capable of any task to which he was assigned; after all, it was he who helped James at the Hearst Tower when others refused. And it was Jonas who helped to save James’ life in the basement as they went against the enraged zombie that had once been an assistant director of building security. Now that the lieutenant was sure of his combat skills it had been time to let his apprentice prove himself. James had recommended Jonas for the mission, and Jonas knew if he failed, he would not only fail in the colonel’s eyes, but more importantly he would disappoint his mentor and the man who helped him to survive. Failure was not going to happen, not on his watch.

  J.D. had chosen to make camp at cabin five, not only because of its tactical advantage—being a cabin atop the summit that was obscured behind a tree line rise—but also because it was a cabin he knew well. This was the cabin that he, Shiyab, and two other St. Vincent’s EMTs had shared while spending off-duty time together camping for the past four consecutive years. This was Norrie-Mills State Park in the town of Staatsburg, just north of Poughkeepsie. It was their place of peace, a place where he and his friends came once a year for a week. It was a place where they did not have to worry about the demands or their jobs or think about the horrors that sometimes accompanied them. Here they could unwind, relax and rest their souls.

  Cabin five usually had an obscured view of the Hudson River, due to the heavy surrounding tree foliage. However, there was one exception and that was an opening between two young oak trees that formed an inverted V that allowed a direct view of the wide river while seated at the picnic table. From the table, J.D. used to sit gazing out onto the serene murky water, occasionally seeing a sailboat, or a tugboat pushing a barge, heading north against the current. Silently, J.D. stood reflecting as he gazed out to the flowing water. His favorite thing had been building a roaring campfire in the park-provided steel pit, sitting back in his New York Giants lounge chair while drinking a beer, or a glass of Jack and Coke—depending on his mood for the evening—and listening to echoes of clattering train wheels and the long resonant sounds of the locomotive’s horn as it passed by the park to and from the Poughkeepsie, NY station. The group never came during the peak camping season; they always choose to go camping after the second week of September. It was much quieter, and three out of the four years they had stayed in the park, they had been the only cabin dwellers. Though the quiet and surrounding beauty of the park was still pleasant, the thoughts of the sights and sounds of the past were not. He missed the tugs on the water and the sounds of distant trains.

  The lock on the door that separated the small, enclosed porch to the cabin’s interior broke easily under the weight of J.D.’s right boot. He stood just inside the entranceway, reflecting for a moment, as he slowly scanned the unlit interior. The cabin had a musty smell, but it didn’t matter; familiarity was comforting, and opening all the windows to air out the small space would diminish the odor. The cabin remained as he had remembered, though usage and time had worn and weathered her a bit more than he recalled. It was, for all intents and purposes, the same as it had been the previous fall, right down to the same furniture.

  All for the moment was right, in a world that had gone so wrong. He hoped that for a few hours there would be peace for himself and his companions. J.D. half smiled as he washed his bloodied hands under the chilly water of the kitchen sink. The well-fed water pipe still worked. Like those in Manhattan these too still functioned due to the sloped angle from its source that gives the park’s feeder pipes natural pressure. After shaking his hands to dry them, he closed the door as he departed and returned to his men and the warmth of the fire.

  Tonight, there was a clear sky and bright half-moon. Its reflection shimmered and danced upon the glossy finish of the Hudson River current. As he gazed out, between the two trees that afforded him his panoramic view, he expelled a sullen breath, aching to see the lights from receding tugboats painting serpentine ribbons of oily colors on the inky black water. But there was only the glimmering of the night sky lapping at the watercourse, a pale substitute for the night-lights he loved to watch.

  At 1:00 a.m. John and Ryan had retired to the luxuriousness of the cabin—not having to sleep in the confinement of the Stryker—while Jonas had withdrawn into the safety of the vehicle. J.D. stood guard. The diminished fire crackled behind him as he leaned up against a young maple tree in the brush staring down the road. The rotting foliage under his feet filled his nostrils with a scent that was pleasant and reminiscent of previous stays. He could distinctly smell the fragrance of decaying hickory husks from one of the numerous genus of trees that were a part of the surrounding forestation. In the distance came a series of loud cries. It sounded like the baying of wolves, but J.D. knew there had not been wolves in these parts for a great many years.

  The night abruptly drew still with a deathly, ominous silence. The faint rustling and stirring sounds of the creatures of the night stopped. There was nothing, not a leave rustling, not a twig breaking, just silence. A few pops came from behind, but he knew it had only been the burning wood releasing moisture. Then he heard it—faint, light, swift. He looked down to the lowland and glimpsed moving specters at the foot of the hill. Fiendish shadows paced and intertwined, moving back and forth across the road with heads hung low to the ground. He could see what they were. The group stopped, then turned and ran fiercely up the incline. It was dogs, a pack of nine, and he could sense they were hungry and dangerous.

  He knew what had drawn them. It was the scent of deer carcass that hung from the tree. J.D. stepped out of his hiding place and into the center of the roadway to greet the oncoming carnivorous horde. He had not shouldered a carbine this night; instead he was armed with his bolos and kept a Glock holstered on his leg. However, J.D. did not reach for either weapon as the pack drew near. He stood staring back at them, his arms extended from his sides, his fingers flexing and his breathing heavy. As the wanting dogs drew within striking distance, J.D.’s transmute voice rose up and bello
wed forth in a piercing screech that sliced through the night.

  He charged them. The Rottweiler pack leader leapt into the air. J.D. reached out and caught the animal in mid-flight, thrusting his talons into the leader’s throat and then throwing the attacking canine to the ground. It was dead before it could yelp.

  Another vicious predator leapt at him, but J.D.’s reaction was lightning quick. He whipped his arm outward, slamming his forearm across the Shepherd’s ribs, cracking them. It yelped loudly as it collapsed to the ground. The rest of the pack was now on him. They pulled him to the ground. J.D. pushed one dog high into the air off his chest, then turned, and with a raking handful of talons slashed deeply into another. The dog screamed in pain. The pack fled.

  J.D. quickly jumped up unscathed, except for minor tears of his clothing, and pursued the fleeing pack through the woods and down an adjacent hill toward cabin number one. He was on the hunt.

  ***

  The piercing, resonant cry abruptly woke the team. Ryan knew the call well. He had heard it before when J.D. had been in distress. J.D.’s screech that mid-October morning had pierced the city’s silence and echoed through the streets from the tip of lower Manhattan to the armory and beyond. He ran from the cabin with weapon in hand with John quick at heel, the two meeting Jonas, who was emerging from the bowels of the Stryker.

  J.D. was not at his post. They called out to him, but there was no response, just the distant howling of perhaps coyotes on the move. Ryan moved the team forward out of the thicket. Emerging and stepping only several feet onto the gravel of the roadway, his feet suddenly met a large mass. The abrupt and unexpected meeting of foot and object nearly toppled him. Ryan tripped, stumbled forward several feet but regained his balance in time so as not to fall. The melee had only lasted seconds, but the carnage of it lay about. As Jonas’ flashlight swept over the moist ground it revealed two dead dogs—a Rottweiler with its throat ripped open and a German shepherd with compound rib fractures.