Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse (Book 12): Abyss

by Chesser, Shawn

  Cade picked his way across the open joists to the jagged opening. Then, keeping both boots and one hand in constant contact with the joists, he began to make his way toward the Christmas tree, probing the insulation with his free hand as he went.

  “Make it quick,” urged Duncan. “Taryn says we have lots of company.”

  Cade said nothing. He was up to his elbows in insulation—a good deal of it airborne. Much like the flies he’d disturbed downstairs, fine particles he was sure were seeking a new home in his lungs clouded the air around his face. A dozen feet from the north dormer his hand brushed something smooth. It was about the size of a pack of cigarettes and when he brought it into the dim light of day he saw that it had a nylon wrist-strap dangling from it. The word Cobra was painted below a front-facing speaker grill. Dominating the top two-thirds of the black plastic case was an LCD screen glowing a muted green and displaying a bunch of different icons surrounding the numbers 31-3. A tiny skeleton key above the numbers told Cade that both the main channel and sub channel they represented were locked in. Resisting the urge to thumb the side-mounted Talk button and try to trick the person to repeat their garbled transmission was an exercise in willpower.

  Cade turned toward the attic access and underhanded the radio in Duncan’s direction. The thing skittered off a joist, caromed off of Duncan’s temple, and came to rest atop the fluffy insulation a foot from his face.

  “That what I was supposed to find?”

  Wriggling one arm through the portal, Duncan took hold of the errant projectile and looked it over. “Set to channel thirty-one, three, huh? And it was powered on?”

  “Affirmative,” answered Cade. “But the volume was rolled all the way down.” He made his way back to the newly created hole and stood there peering down between his legs at the floor below. The corpse was nowhere to be seen. However, the spot on the floor where he had to land was littered with debris from the woman’s forcible removal.

  Never one to take the easy way out—nor the high road, for that matter—Cade knelt down gingerly before the hole and said, “Look out below.” A tick later he was gripping the joists and lowering his five-ten frame through the opening. Once he had reached full extension, he let go of the joists and dropped the remaining eighteen inches to the floor. A hollow thud sounded when his one hundred and eighty pounds alit atop the uneven pile of lathe and plaster and insulation. While not a picture-perfect landing, he stayed upright and started to fan away the fresh cloud of fine white dust he had inadvertently kicked up.

  A beat later there was a similar hollow thump from the other room and Duncan peered through the door. He looked to Cade then gestured toward the stairs with the Saiga. “Wilson needs us.” In passing, he poked his head into the front bedroom and ordered Taryn to follow him.

  Downstairs, Wilson was standing in front of the picture window and peeking through a thin vertical seam in the center of the curtains. “They’re interested in the barn for some reason,” he noted, peeling the curtain aside to allow Cade a look.

  “Whatever the case, they need to be dealt with,” Cade said, drawing his Gerber from its sheath. “I count roughly twenty. Sound about right?”

  “Twenty-one,” answered Taryn from the foyer. “We got lucky. I saw a real big group move on past the drive a couple of minutes ago.”

  “Direction?”

  “North.”

  “That’s bound to continue until the entire horde tires of Bear River and breaks one way or the other.”

  Wilson let go of the curtain. He stared at Cade. Said in a low voice, “If they tire of Bear River.”

  “If they don’t,” said Cade, “those folks better pray the temperature drops below freezing pretty soon.”

  Duncan and Taryn circled around the dining table. She went to the window, pulled on the curtain, and peered out. He put a hand on Wilson’s shoulder and said, “That may not even be enough. At least right away. Get too many of them rotters crowded in against the walls and gates and they freeze there. No way to drive through them. Nor can you wade through them all on foot.”

  “I already did the math,” Wilson said, shaking his head. “If this horde is even half the size of the one that followed me and Sash out of Denver, it’s going to take every one of Bear River’s citizens working round the clock for days to kill them all.”

  “Flu’s still burning through the folks there,” said Duncan. “Dregan’s son said his Uncle Henry and half of the population is down with it. The other half is walking on eggshells hoping not to catch it.”

  Wilson said, “So then you have what, a couple of hundred people killing and clearing?”

  “That’s backbreaking work in and of itself,” added Cade. “And when you’re done culling them a week later, you’ve still got several hundred thousand corpses you have to dispose of.”

  Wilson shuddered. “Then you’ve got a festering Mt.-Everest-sized biohazard on your hands. Can’t begin to imagine what that many corpses would smell like.”

  “You leave a handful lying around for even a day or two and your fresh water supply will be unfit to drink,” said Cade. “Then you’ve got no choice but to use precious fuel to boil water to drink.”

  “It ain’t going to come to that,” said Duncan. “Dregan’s a crafty fella. I’m sure he has something up his sleeve. Besides … we have more pressing matters to attend to here.”

  “Thinning the herd and searching the barn,” said Cade. “Any ideas on how to go about getting both done quietly?” He shifted his gaze from face to face. In the gloom, each one of them looked to have aged considerably since he’d first met them, Duncan more so than the young couple.

  Without missing a beat, Duncan said, “I was hoping we could use one of those screaming jobs you brought back with you, Mister I Saved the Constitution and Bill of Rights singlehandedly.”

  Simultaneously Taryn and Wilson looked questions at Cade.

  Shaking his head, Cade said, “Wasn’t just me. I had help in D.C.”

  After picking her chin off the floor, Taryn said, “I’ll find the gate to the pasture and lure them inside.”

  Wilson said, “And I’ll close it behind them.”

  Talking excitedly, Taryn added, “And then I jump the fence back to safety.”

  Grimacing, Cade said, “Looks good on paper. But the moment one sees either one of you the song of the dead begins. There are a few first turns mixed in. You get them all excited and the fresh ones start to moan—”

  “More will start streaming up from the state route,” finished Wilson.

  Duncan ran his hand through his thinning hair. He said, “Then for sure we’re up shit creek without a paddle.” A strange look settled on his face.

  “What is it?” asked Taryn.

  “Anyone seen my Stetson?”

  Cade said, “Where’d you last have it?”

  If I knew that it wouldn’t be lost, thought Duncan. He said, “Upstairs. I pushed the sewing desk over so I could watch you without doing any climbing. Think I may have left it on the chair.”

  “Spare your knees,” said Wilson, already heading for the stairs. “Wouldn’t want you to leave your lucky hat behind,”

  “Left mine in the Sequoia outside of Boise,” Cade said to no one in particular. He was staring out the part in the curtains.

  “The Trail Blazer cap you had on when we met?”

  Cade nodded.

  “I didn’t peg you for a sports fan,” said Taryn.

  “I didn’t peg you for a world class dirt track driver,” replied Cade.

  Feeling left out, Duncan asked, “Which of my many attributes have I impressed you two with?”

  In full stereo, Taryn and Cade said, “Duncanisms,” and both cracked a smile.

  Duncan’s cheeks flushed crimson. He said, “And hearing that makes me happier than a puppy who just discovered his peter.”

  Shaking her head, Taryn said, “That’s a hell of a visual.”

  Cade checked the time on his Suunto. Changing the subject,
he said, “We need to get a move on. We still have the rendezvous to deal with.”

  “First things first,” said Duncan. “We need to take care of those things out there.”

  Wilson returned from upstairs, Stetson in hand. He saw the other three rooted in virtually the same spots as where they’d been when he left. They were now wearing sheepish expressions and looking at one another conspiratorially.

  Wilson handed over the hat. He asked, “What’d I miss.”

  Shifting his gaze from Taryn to Wilson, Cade said, “Willingness.”

  Duncan studied the redhead for a tick. “Definitely moxie,” he said, suppressing a grin.

  Taryn was silent for a long two-count. Finally, she said, “Heart.”

  At a loss for words, Wilson simply shook his head and waited for Cade to dole out marching orders.

  Chapter 31

  Crouched low and moving silently behind Wilson, the group exited the farmhouse single file through the front door and fanned out, Duncan taking up position to the left of the stairs, and Taryn to the right.

  Bringing up the rear, Cade pulled the door closed then crossed the porch and made himself as small as possible behind the picket of balusters Taryn was crouched behind. First thing he noticed was how strangely still the air outside was. He guessed the temperature to be in the mid-fifties. Calm before the storm, came to mind as he swung his rifle around to his back where it could hang out of his way. While letting his gaze roam the barn doors where the dead were amassed, he mated the black suppressor to his Glock 19 by feel. Just in case.

  Seeing Cade go to his pistol, Wilson drew his Beretta and was in the process of sheathing his blade when a hand gripped his wrist and a familiar voice quietly drawled, “As a last resort only.”

  On the opposite side of the stairs, Cade was telling Taryn to go whenever she was ready.

  Clutching her black Tanto-style blade, Taryn stepped from cover, descended the short stack of stairs, and made a bee line for the near corner of the barn where her quota of rotters were pressing in against the massive doors.

  Saiga slung diagonally over his chest and holding his black, single-edged blade at the low ready, Duncan nudged Wilson on the back to get him moving.

  So far, so good, thought Cade. The predetermined order of movement was going off without a hitch. Most of the early success could only be attributed to whatever it was inside the barn that the dead were so attracted to.

  After nodding at Cade, Duncan followed Wilson off the porch in as close to a running crouch as his knees would allow. Pacing a half-dozen steps behind Taryn, both men followed her until they neared the far side of the gravel parking area where they all peeled off on divergent tangents.

  Glock in one hand, sleek black Gerber in the other, Cade leaped from the porch. Arms and legs pistoning, he sprinted for the furthermost corner of the barn where the parked F-650 and random pieces of rusted farm equipment had created a sort of funnel a handful of Zs were still negotiating.

  By the time Cade was passing the point where the barn doors came together, Taryn was ripping her blade out of the first of her chosen targets and deftly sidestepping the falling corpse.

  To Taryn’s right, Duncan was grabbing handfuls of greasy, insect-infested hair and introducing his blade to lifeless flesh with assembly-line precision.

  As Cade bypassed Wilson’s position, two things happened. First, the adrenaline flooding his system slowed the action around him to a crawl, making it seem as if as he was moving at normal speed while everything and everyone was caught up in some kind of slow-motion replay. Then from the corner of his eye he saw the redhead grab a towering specimen of rot and decay by the shoulder and move to insert his blade into the base of its neck. Strangely, however, the Z spun away from the killing strike and in the blink of an eye the two were tangled up and pirouetting around like a couple of drunks engaged in a three-legged race. Even more troubling than the shocking display of agility was that this one seemed to be matching Wilson in strength—something that Cade hadn’t seen from a Z as seasoned as this.

  Sink or swim, thought Cade as he continued on, splashing through puddles and sending loose gravel skittering away with each footfall. Finally reaching the west corner of the barn behind a full head of steam, he jumped into the fray. Two lightning-quick flashes of the Gerber had the pair of Zs facing away from him crashing vertically to the ground where they became but static tents of ashen skin misshapen by jutting, sharp-edged bones.

  Parrying grabbing hands with the pistol, Cade waded deeper into the pack of Zs, ramming his black dagger to the hilt into the nearest monster’s eye socket. Grimacing from the stench of carrion polluting the still air, he crabbed right a couple of steps and brought the butt of the polymer pistol down squarely atop a grade-school-aged Z’s head. There was a sickening crunch of collapsing bone and the tiny thing was sent on its way to the ground quivering from a final death twitch.

  Cade was spinning around to engage another Z when in his left side vision two things became clear to him. Bringing him an instant feeling of relief, he saw that Wilson was indeed swimming, having vanquished his overly capable foe and was moving on from yet another kill sprawled on the ground near his feet. Then, starting a cold ball to form in Cade’s gut, came the realization that the remaining dead were now aware of their proximity to fresh meat and beginning to moan and rasp and turn in his direction.

  In the next beat, a male Z oblique to Cade was staring side-eyed and reaching out for him with its skinless, claw-like hands. Sidestepping the clumsy swipe, the Delta operator landed a devastating one-two combination. The former being a left forearm to the Z’s neck that stood the thirty-something upright and rigid. While the latter—coming from down low and sweeping blindingly fast on an upward right-to-left arc—was delivered in the form of a perfectly aimed and timed dagger strike to the temple.

  As the twice-dead creature did the slow slide from Cade’s blade, from out of the south a wind gust roared over the farm. To Cade it sounded like Murphy voicing his displeasure at the leg up Mother Nature just gave to his outnumbered group. Fuck you, Murphy. In Cade’s line of work advantage came in many forms—most often when least expected. And he wasn’t about to look this gift horse in the mouth.

  On the sloped pasture at the group’s backs the withered grass whipped violently to all points of the compass before bowing due north in supplication to the sudden arrival of the carrion-rich gale.

  In the lee of the barn and sheltered from the rising tempest cutting around the huge structure, the small group found themselves in a strange bubble of calm. The normal properties of how sound travelled were momentarily altered. Which Cade quickly decided to use to their advantage. Telling the others to disengage and back away, he sheathed the Gerber and brought the Glock to bear on the nearest Z. Pistol steadied in a two-handed grip, he caressed the trigger once. The muffled report sounded and a millisecond later the 9mm Parabellum was bridging the gap between muzzle and pasty forehead and a shiny brass casing was tracing a graceful arc away from the ejection port. Even as the creature’s face was collapsing and a mist of brackish blood bloomed around its head, Cade was tracking the suppressor left and dropping the first of Wilson’s remaining two Zs with a bullet to its temple. With twice-dead rotters falling domino-like in the wake of accurate fire, Cade continued sweeping the polymer pistol right to left.

  Without blinking and devoid of remorse, he pumped single shots into the snarling creature’s faces, the screaming slugs plowing into eye sockets and opened maws and foreheads, leaving behind entry wounds surrounded by shredded dermis and shockwave-pulped flesh and bone.

  Though clearly audible to Cade and the others, he was all but certain the residual noise of the rapid-fire gunshots escaping the cylindrical suppressor was being carried safely north of them by the wind.

  No way it could have reached the road a quarter-mile west of the barn.

  Or so he hoped.

  “Give me room,” he called, pointing an elbow to where he wanted the ot
hers to go.

  Counting eight undead things still navigating the phalanx of prostrate corpses, Duncan reached out and grabbed Wilson with his free hand. Seeing Taryn already heeding Cade’s command, he reluctantly backpedaled away from the barn with the redhead in tow.

  “This way,” Cade said to the staggering brood. Waving one arm over his head, he lured the Zs around the barn’s east side and trudged into the oncoming headwind. Raising his voice to be heard over the intermittent wind howl and calls of the hungry dead, he continued hollering and gesticulating at them until he reached the midpoint of the barn’s looming wall where a lone clouded-over window was located. Noticing Duncan shooting a what the eff are you doing? look in his direction, Cade took an abrupt ninety-degree turn and backpedaled a path through the grass. A dozen yards from the barn he felt the gravel drive under his boots and sensed the farmhouse crowding him from behind.

  Seeing that the others were now at a safe angle to the right of the barn, Cade stopped, planted his feet a shoulder-width apart, and promptly punched a third eye into the forehead of the first of the eight Zs following him.

  He let them come.

  He let the Glock speak seven more times.

  He looked over the bodies of former Americans and felt a rising anger. Not at them. It wasn’t their fault. It was the evil in men that had gotten the Omega ball rolling. It was the evil in the Adrian woman responsible for Ray’s gruesome death. And Cade was certain the horror yet to be discovered behind the closed barn doors was going to trump everything he had seen to date.

  Slide locked open and smoke curling from the suppressor, Cade headed back to where the whole conga line of death had begun, along the way sourcing another magazine and swapping it for the empty.

  “Wyatt,” said Taryn, the word drawn out long and colored with an equal measure of awe and contempt. “Fitting. But we’re not a bunch of stiffs. I was down to just two.”