Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse (Book 12): Abyss

by Chesser, Shawn

  “Now?” asked Raven once the pickup had come to a complete stop broadside to the shambling zombies.

  For a long couple of seconds the truck’s throaty exhaust note competed with the usual noises created by a pack of Zs on the move: throaty rasps; feet (some bare, most shod in road-beaten shoes) slapping a cadence on the wet pavement. The sodden clothes draping their emaciated, rotting bodies swishing out a rhythm in tune with their clumsy gaits.

  Before Cade could answer her, sharp reports of dead hands impacting the hood and passenger-side sheet-metal drew his attention. Soon, the four-door pickup was under full assault and rocking subtly on its lifted suspension.

  Cade fixed a business-like gaze on Raven. “Fools rush in,” he said. “For now, we observe.”

  Shooting him her best I’m no fool look, Raven hunkered down on her backside and braced the rifle’s forestock on one upthrust knee. Peering over the carbine, she watched the pickup’s driver-side window roll down a few inches. Then a cheek pressed the glass and a plume of blue-gray smoke roiled from within the vehicle.

  Laughter followed.

  In seconds the cab was filled up with smoke.

  Peals of laughter sounded as the window pulsed down and more smoke billowed out.

  When the front edge of the drifting cloud reached their hide, Raven crinkled her nose and said, “That smells like skunk.”

  Cade mimed zipping his lips. He turned an ear toward the idling truck, trying to pick up snippets of a muted conversation between the Zs’ dry rasps. After listening hard for a spell, all he heard was a retort that conveyed how amazed one of them was at how close they’d come to crashing into the roadblock. Then, clear as day, he heard the driver say: “We better call this in.”

  The scrabbling of nails on the truck’s sides continued for a few seconds. Then another cloud of smoke issued from the passenger’s side window and rolled over the heads of the dead.

  A minute or so after coming to the screeching halt, the truck began a slow roll backward with the dead in full pursuit. When the rig was about even with the spot in the road where Cade and Raven had crossed over the guardrail, the engine roared and it accelerated sharply.

  “Looks like two women,” said Raven, as she tracked the vehicle’s right-to-left movement with her rifle.

  Cade glanced at the pewter sky. It was once again pressing down on them, the clouds scudding by so fast they seemed to possess some otherworldly form of propulsion. He said, “Or long-haired men. Hard to tell in this light and behind that dark of a window tint.”

  “The voices were female,” she insisted. “No doubt about that. Can we hit them now?”

  As she uttered that last part, Cade detected equal measures of fear and confidence in her tone. Shaking his head no, he put a hand on the Colt’s top rail and gently forced the muzzle down a few degrees. Remaining silent, he extracted the radio from a pocket, thumbed the Talk button, and conveyed everything he had just learned to Tran back at the compound.

  As Tran came on to confirm the relayed information, a low rumble sounded overhead and the sky opened up again. With a new onslaught of pea-sized hail pelting the bushes all around him, Cade made it clear to Tran and anyone listening in that they were not to engage the interlopers unless it could not be avoided.

  “Shouldn’t we try to follow them?” asked Tran.

  “No need,” said Duncan, cutting in over the open channel.

  “Stand pat,” Cade said agreeably. “We’ll be back in twenty or so.”

  “Dad?” called Raven.

  “One second, sweetie,” he said, flashing her his open palm as he watched the Tundra’s driver perform a near-perfect Bootlegger’s reverse—spinning the truck around in a one-eighty by applying a great deal of brake and a rapid hand-over-hand wrenching of the steering wheel.

  “Dad?”

  “Roger that,” said Tran. “I’ll be looking for you.”

  Cade watched the truck fishtail as it accelerated into the forested tunnel. Once he was certain the hasty retreat wasn’t just to create some separation from the dead, he said, “Roger that, Tran,” and pocketed the radio. When he turned to hear what Raven had to say, he saw that she was up and walking along the curving guardrail, the distance to the throng of jostling Zs already cut in half.

  “We don’t have time to do this,” he called.

  Leaning over the guardrail, shiny blade pointed skyward at a forty-five-degree angle, Raven replied, “Just one or two, Dad. I want to see what it feels like.”

  “Raven, don’t—.” He didn’t get a chance to finish the admonition. The Arkansas Toothpick had already drawn blood and the female zombie was crumpling fast to the shoulder where it settled in a heap of sharp, bony angles. One eye socket leaked brackish blood and its lips were mashed against the blacktop, leaving the death mask in a permanent, lopsided scowl. The corpse’s jean shorts rode up much farther than humanly possible and what was left of a tattered and torn tank top clung to its ribcage like an old and bloodied length of gauze bandage.

  Not finished, Raven chided the nearest Z by telling it to “Come to Mama.” Holding the blade loosely in her right hand, she caught its attention by waving her off-hand at the thing like a Toreador might a bull.

  “Finish that one and come on,” Cade said, exasperation evident in his voice. Strong-willed, just like the one who bore you.

  A call from Tran emanated from the radio in Cade’s pocket. “The pickup just passed the front gate heading back toward Woodruff.”

  Or Bear Lake, thought Cade. Ever since listening to Duncan and the other’s accounts of their failed rescue mission north, he couldn’t stop thinking about how poorly they had performed in the aftermath. How Duncan had balked when confronted with the fact that the job had been left unfinished. And now his gut was telling him the duo in the Tundra had some kind of a connection to the murderous cannibals Duncan had seen fit to let scatter into the wind.

  “Send Lev and Seth to check the entrance. Have them go by foot and armed for bear.”

  “Copy that,” said Tran.

  “And, Tran,” added Cade.

  “Yes?”

  “Have everyone roll their radio channels forward to the next one on the list.”

  “Will do.”

  Cade ended the call. Before stowing the radio, he changed the channel and sub channel to match the next one on a list he’d been keeping in his front pocket. Finished, he struck out ahead of Raven, moving fast and quiet, careful, as she followed in his wake, to not give her the same, constant wet-flora-to-the-face treatment he’d endured during their trek to the roadblock.

  Chapter 4

  Cade emerged from the underbrush a dozen feet from the fencepost bordering the westernmost edge of the property. He cast his gaze to the stretch of 39 running away to the east and was pleasantly surprised to see that instead of obscuring evidence of the truck’s passage, the second cloudburst had merely thickened the ground coverage. In turn, the returning tire tracks were more pronounced, and thus much easier to follow.

  “We’ve got to triple time it, Raven,” said Cade, as he struck off for the feeder road at a steady jog.

  Breathing hard, a dull ache emanating from deep within her still-healing punctured lung, Raven clutched the rifle to her chest and matched her father’s pace.

  ***

  Reaching the camouflaged gate, Cade didn’t stop. In fact, he found another gear and kept it going for fifty yards or so before craning over his shoulder and clomping to a halt, straddling the strip of grass splitting the feeder road.

  Just making the turn, Raven was moving sluggishly, one arm beating her side, the other clutching the rifle which looked to be battering her across the thighs with each labored stride.

  Breath coming evenly, Cade jogged back the way he’d come. Stopping just short of his leaden-footed offspring, he motioned to Raven with a rapid wagging of his fingers—universal semaphore for hand it over.

  She shook her head side-to-side. Gasped, “I got it.”

  “No
t what your body language is saying.” Despite her continued protests, Cade unclipped her rifle and relieved her of the backpack. Without a word, he turned and resumed his latest pace. Confident Raven could keep up sans the fifteen pounds he was now shouldering, he stopped and looked only when he arrived at the middle gate.

  By the time Raven rendezvoused at the gate, only twenty seconds had passed. During that time, Cade had hailed the compound and had Tran pass on his hastily thrown-together plan.

  A quick glance at his Suunto told him the driver of the Tundra already had a twenty-three-minute head start to wherever she was going. His best guess had them enjoying a luxurious thirty-minute lead by the time he and Raven reached the clearing.

  ***

  Everyone save for Tran, Lev, and Seth were standing in a rough semi-circle near the Winnebago when Cade and Raven broke into the clearing. The RV’s awning was nearly resting on Duncan’s Stetson. Glenda was by his side, bolt-action long gun in hand.

  At once Wilson and Taryn turned toward the sound of boots crunching on hail-coated gravel. Then, leaving Sasha behind, the pair strode purposefully in Cade and Raven’s direction.

  As hot and cold air collided high overhead, a low, ominous rumble rolled across the valley.

  Gulping air, Cade slowed his gait and eventually came to a full stop, doubled over with his palms planted on his knees. Resting there behind the Raptor and F-650, he ran his gaze over the slowly dissolving congregation and picked up on a couple things of interest. First, their newest member, Bridgett, was on the periphery of the small gathering and was looking his way. Dressed in stiff new Levi 501s and sporting a flannel shirt complete with the obligatory down-filled vest riding over it, she stood out like a sore thumb among the others, who wore a smattering of camouflage and earth-tone articles of clothing. On the quick visual pass, he also saw that Duncan had the fully automatic Saiga shotgun slung over one shoulder. The weapon’s curved magazine, stuffed with twenty shotgun shells—likely alternated slug, shot, slug, shot—protruded from behind the man’s desert-tan, thigh-length jacket. That he wore a pair of rawhide gloves and had his black Model 1911 Colt pistol riding low in a drop-thigh holster all but screamed I’m coming along.

  Looking sidelong toward the Winnebago—hands now on his hips and his breathing coming to him somewhat normally—Cade said to Raven, “I want you to stick close to Glenda while I’m gone. And keep an eye on the new one. I’m still not sold on her story.”

  “Me neither,” said Raven. “She’s got shifty eyes. And she eats way more than her fair share.”

  Seeing Duncan and the Kids stalking him, Cade wiped his brow and stood tall.

  “What about this?” Raven patted her new rifle.

  “It’s yours. Take care of it.” A quick glance confirmed the stubby Colt was still on Safe. As he went through the ritual of checking his weapon, he said, “I’ll help you break it down and clean it when I return.”

  “Already know how. Mom taught me.” She paused and smiled assuredly. “I’m pretty quick at it, too.”

  Throat closing up on him, Cade wrapped her in a tight embrace. Planting a kiss atop her stocking cap, he said, “She taught you well, Bird.”

  Mercifully sparing Cade from breaking down in front of the one who needed most to see him project strength, Duncan strode right into their personal space and asked, “Ford or … Ford?”

  The funny quip not producing so much as a half-smile, Cade shook his head. “I’m going solo … in the F-650. And I’m going now,” he fished the fob with the blue Ford oval from his breast pocket, “because the trail is getting hot.”

  Having just arrived on Duncan’s heels, head cocked, Wilson said, “Hot? I thought trails usually went cold.”

  “Eventually the sun is going to crack those clouds and the hail on the road is going to melt. When it does I won’t have anything to follow.” Cade watched Raven approach Glenda. Due to the fact that she was still pissed at being sedated the night Brook finally succumbed to Omega, his daughter’s body language was a little chilly: crossed arms clutching her rifle to her chest. Stiff-legged gait. Lips pressed into a thin white line. That Raven had been kicking things and cussing up a storm when she was barred from seeing her mom on the ‘night of’ had made it necessary. Still, Glenda was in Raven’s “dog house,” a saying the twelve-year-old had only recently learned from hearing the older lady utter it in regard to one of Duncan’s many minor transgressions.

  “I’ve got a big dog in this fight,” Duncan growled. With a firm set to his jaw, he looped around the F-650, opened the door, and hauled himself up and into the passenger seat.

  Calling after him, through clenched teeth, Cade said, “Get out.”

  Duncan made no reply.

  Cade opened the driver’s side door to the sound of a seat belt clicking home. When he slid behind the wheel, he saw Duncan facing him, much of the same body language Raven had exhibited on full display: crossed arms. Mouth with a grim set to it. Eyes boring into his.

  “I’m going,” Duncan asserted. “You’re gonna have to shoot me and push my carcass out.”

  Cade turned the key, setting the engine to rumbling. A pair of sounds caught his attention. Two subtle metallic creaks. One right after the other. A tick later, two solid thunks sounded behind him. One from either side of the truck.

  “Look at what the cat drug in,” said Duncan. Suppressing a cackle, he shifted his gaze from Cade to the back seat where Taryn and Wilson were stowing gear and buckling in.

  Sitting with both hands gripping the wheel, arms tensed and ramrod-straight, Cade looked at the pair in the rearview mirror. “Two’s company … four is a crowd.”

  Taryn crossed her arms, sat back hard against the seat, and peered out her window.

  After a split-second of eye contact with Cade via the mirror, Wilson pulled the brim of his boonie hat down low over his eyes and locked his door.

  Cade regarded Duncan. “I can move faster and quieter alone.”

  “A fella can die that way faster, too.”

  Cade relaxed a bit and threw the transmission into Drive. Then, with an icy silence hanging in the cab, he carved a wide looping left turn in the tall grass and, without looking back at the folks seeing them off, spurred the Ford ahead toward the cut in the forest.

  Chapter 5

  Tran had just witnessed Bridgett peel away from the small group loitering in the clearing when the Ford F-650 filled up a partition on the flat panel and rolled to a stop a few feet from the middle gate. He watched Wilson exit the vehicle and stride around the truck’s massive front end, momentarily disappearing from view.

  A knock on the compound’s main door drew Tran’s attention to the gloomy foyer. Leaning back and craning to the left, he bellowed, “Be there in a moment.” When he returned his attention to the monitor, the black truck had pulled through the gate and the redhead was securing it with a length of chain and padlock. A half-beat later the Ford was barreling down the feeder road. Still, he made Bridgett wait another minute while he snatched up the long-range CB radio and told the survivors in the truck that the road by the main gate was clear of rotters and breathers. Another few raps rang against the steel door while Wilson performed the same routine at the hidden gate fronting the glazed-over state route. Then, close on the heels of Bridgett’s second subtle barrage, a new flurry of knocks—louder and more insistent—crashed off the security container’s metal walls.

  Once Duncan called back confirming the group was Oscar Mike (on the move in military speak) and Tran saw the truck disappearing from view eastbound on 39, he took Taryn’s iPhone down from the shelf and thumbed in the unlock code. He tapped the screen a couple of times and replaced the device on the shelf, leaving it propped up lengthwise against some HAM radio manuals he’d prepositioned there.

  Another flurry of sonorous bangs echoed throughout the underground compound. “Coming,” he muttered as he rose up off the chair. With a little pep in his step, he covered the dozen feet to the door, getting there and throwing
the lock before Bridgett had a chance to knock again.

  “Shit, little man. I was freezing my tits off out there!” barked Bridgett just as soon as Tran had the door open. She loomed a head taller and stood there for a second looking down on him.

  Ignoring the attempted intimidation, Tran brushed past her and locked them in. Forgoing any kind of greeting, he padded back to his post and found the woman standing before the monitor with her wide frame blocking his passage. After clearing his throat, he said, “Excuse me, I’d like to sit.”

  Tearing her gaze from the electronic items piled on the chest-high shelf running the length of the plywood desk, she looked down on him again and shuffled a few inches to her right.

  Trying to make small talk, he asked, “What are the others doing?”

  The cordial attitude Bridgett exhibited when around Duncan, Cade, and, to a lesser extent, Glenda, was nowhere to be found now as she sneered, “Most of them are standing around and jawing like a bunch of old women. The two Army dudes are out for a little walk in the woods.” She chuckled at the last part.

  “Lev and Seth,” Tran said to himself as he ran his eyes over the monitor. “Lev’s former Army. Seth is … not sure. I know he isn’t former military. And your insinuation is all wrong. Neither one of them favors the company of men.”

  As if he sensed he was being talked about, Lev called on the two-way to let Tran know the outer fence was clear and the party was safely away.

  “Rotters?” Tran asked.

  “We haven’t come across any inside the wire. There are more than usual outside, though. Saw a dozen or so east of the entrance … but they turned to follow the 650.”

  “Roger that. When are you coming back?”

  “We’re just going to walk the fence line for a while. Twenty or thirty minutes, tops.”

  “Copy that. Tran, out.”

  While Lev was signing off, Bridgett grabbed a folding chair from where it had been propped against the wall. With an unwarranted flourish, she snapped it open, spun it around backwards, and then plopped down hard on it. With her substantial backside sticking out one end and arms folded and resting on the flat metal back-rest, she completely blocked the narrow pathway through the Conex container.