Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse (Book 12): Abyss

by Chesser, Shawn

  “I caught them flanking the house,” he said, gesturing at the tattooed corpse. “I dropped that one as he went over the fence. Must have pierced a heart valve or something. He didn’t even say a word when it hit him here”—Daymon pointed at his ribs underneath his left arm—“just the whoosh of his breath leaving him and he fell mid-step face down in the grass on the other side of the fence.”

  Duncan was eyeballing the hat to Daymon’s outfit. It bristled with flora that looked to have been freshly plucked from the fields and briar patches bumping up to the rear of the nearby house. He regarded the taller man and gestured to the twice-dead rotters. “And pony boy with no guts? Your doing or the stinky three here?”

  “I pulled my shot,” said Daymon, with a shake of his head. “Hit him in the hammy, though. Slowed him down enough to let the roamers get him. Pretty damn satisfying getting to watch ‘em finish the job up close and personal.”

  Cade asked, “Where were you set up? You have a stand?”

  “No stand. Hollah has one in the garage back at the house. That’s where I found this suit and the bow. And if you want to believe the photo in Hollah’s den, he took down a grizzly in Alaska with this thing.”

  “That little car-sellin’ runt had to have been in a tree stand,” said Duncan, “Begs the question, Slim. Where’d you hit ‘em from?”

  Daymon put a hand on Duncan’s shoulder. He pointed the bow at the brambles behind the house. “Crouched down behind the berry patch. Rotters weren’t paying me no mind so I just popped up and hit the first breather as he’s going over the fence. Dumb ass number two is whirling around and looking for me as the stinkies are drawing near. He goes over at the last minute. That’s when I winged him.” He glanced at the approaching rotters. Though they were still nearly a block away, their rasping calls and toxic stench were evident.

  Cade clapped Daymon on the shoulder. He said, “I figured you were listening in when I took that call back at your place.”

  Daymon nodded. “I couldn’t help but hear the time and place. I also couldn’t resist crashing the party.”

  “Thanks for getting our backs. You did good.”

  “Kudos from the Delta soldier,” said Daymon, smiling broadly.

  “Don’t let it get to your head,” shot Duncan. “It’s already too big.”

  Daymon flipped Duncan the bird.

  Cade caught the taller man’s eye. “You better hustle back to Heidi and hunker down. Things are bound to get crazy in the coming hours. Bear River is under siege by the dead. No telling when that dam will break and they start moving again.”

  “If the walls don’t fall first,” Duncan observed soberly.

  “You also have Adrian’s people to worry about,” added Cade, his eyes locking with Daymon’s. “Sooner or later they’ll come looking for their people. And when they do … you better not be on the move. Might find yourself cut off from getting home.”

  “You’ll be stuck between the proverbial rock and a hard place,” added Duncan.

  Daymon opened his mouth to speak but was preempted by a shrill voice coming from a radio in Cade’s pocket. He pursed his lips and shot the operator a questioning look.

  Cade dragged the radio into the open.

  They all crowded in and listened to a woman trying to hail someone named Joy. This went on for a few seconds until the woman said, “Iris, can you hear me? Can anyone in Woodruff fuckin’ hear me?”

  Save for the growls and snarls of the rotters still closing in on the group, silence dominated their little huddle. A couple of seconds slipped into the past before the radio finally came alive again and Iris blurted that she was alive and wanted to know where in the hell Joy was.

  Hitching a brow, Duncan mouthed, “Joy is no mas.”

  Incredulity showing in her tone, Iris was back on the radio and again pleading for help. “I know how many people are there,” she added. “I even know what kinds of weapons they have. Adrian will get her food back.”

  There was no reply.

  Eventually, voice gone hoarse, Iris ended her one-sided conversation with a whispered, “I’m a doer. Tell Adrian I am finally a doer.”

  Squaring up to the shambling clutch of undead, Daymon said, “I got this.” He set his bow down and reached for his right thigh. A second later his hand emerged from underneath the ghillie suit’s fabric strips clutching Kindness. Machete held out in front of him like a miniature jousting pole, he strode confidently toward the rotters.

  Wilson and Lev were just returning from their task and missed Daymon’s declaration. They set the rifles cradled in their arms down gently on the grass strip. Lev took a trio of pistols from his belt line and laid them out next to the assortment of carbines and bolt-action long guns.

  Wilson shrugged off the last of the rifles he’d slung crisscross over his shoulders. Looking to Cade, he said, “No wallets. No maps. There’s two cans of gas we can fetch on the way back to our rigs.” He nodded toward Daymon, who was just drawing near to the dead. “Shouldn’t one of us give him a hand?”

  Cade shook his head. “He can handle twice as many as that with one arm tied behind his back.”

  “And the girls?”

  “They’ll be alright,” is what Cade said. They’ll sink or they’ll swim, is what he was thinking. The time for coddling and scolding was over. That all ended the moment he sank the black blade into Brook’s brain. He looked to Lev. “Any radios?”

  “Just the leader,” he said. “Same type as the one from the Thagon house.”

  Cade said, “Same channel, I presume.”

  Lev nodded. “I got a good look at the cowcatcher thing on the lead truck.”

  “And?”

  “Not worth taking for one of our rigs,” said Lev. “It’s just thin steel tacked on haphazardly by a novice welder.”

  Cade said, “That explains why they didn’t try to run the block.”

  Lev nodded, then regarded Duncan. “Damn, man. You did a number on those two upstairs. The big guy … one to the chest and one to the head. Savage. Looks like an effen alien chewed its way out of his chest.”

  “Went about it backwards,” conceded Duncan. “His Neanderthal forehead diverted the first slug.”

  “Then you shot him direct in the sternum.”

  Duncan nodded, then glanced at Daymon. Watched as the gangly looking bush decapitated three of the rotters in quick succession. Saw the decaying bodies crash vertically like snipped marionettes, the severed heads bouncing and rolling in different directions. Imagining the jaws still working piston-like, he shuddered at the thought of those dead eyes continuing to dart to and fro on the lookout for fresh meat until the brain finally rotted away to nothing.

  Wilson had been hanging on the words. His jaw dropping incrementally with each sweep of his gaze.

  “The woman,” said Lev, snapping Duncan back to the conversation. “Did you choke her out?”

  Duncan threw a shudder and tore his eyes from the dance of death down the street.

  “Choke her out,” stammered Wilson. Jaw on his chest, he took a step back from the man he considered to be more of an uncle or grandpa figure than a stone-cold killer.

  “It’s a long story,” drawled Duncan. Frowning, he added, “I don’t know my own strength. Let’s just leave it at that.”

  Breaking up the jawing session, Cade said, “As soon as Daymon is finished, we need to scoot.” He quickly selected three of the rifles—all AR platforms—and placed them aside. They were pretty beat up and likely ill-maintained. Still, he figured they could be used for practice, or cannibalized for their parts.

  “Mine,” said Duncan, snatching up the lone AK-47 in the mix. He checked the safety then pulled the curved magazine from the well. “Old boy expended every last round before I killed him.”

  “Spray and pray is more like it,” said Cade. “No accuracy involved. Half of them froze up under fire. Majority of the rest went into panic mode.” He picked up a spare magazine for the Soviet Bloc weapon and tossed it to Dun
can.

  Fumbling the toss, Duncan said, “Gotta love the spoils of war.”

  Cade said, “Speaking of spoils of war. Which truck are you taking?”

  Duncan shook his head. “Two out of the three are resting on flat tires. I raked the cab of the other with the carbine.”

  “There was a person in there when you did,” said Lev. “The passenger.” He looked the older man in the eye and added slowly, “And she bled out and died in there.”

  “Crazy the amount of blood a human body has in it,” noted Wilson.

  Duncan chuckled. “Better her than one of us.”

  Pulling his gaze from Duncan, Wilson plucked one of the pistols off the grass. It was a semiautomatic clone of the venerable Colt Model 1911 that Duncan favored. Staring at the weapon, he asked, “Can I have this one?”

  “Don’t ask,” said Cade. “Assert yourself. Claim it.”

  Wilson nodded and tucked the pistol in his waistband.

  Lev said, “What do we do with the rest of the rifles? They’re pretty much junk.”

  Cade picked out a bolt-action item pitted with rust. He laid it across the curb and stomped a bell curve into the barrel.

  “That’ll take it out of the fight,” said Lev, following suit with another of the long guns.

  Daymon let out a war whoop that carried the half-block to the trio of men disabling the weapons. “Shit never gets old,” he called across the distance.

  “Need a ride home?” asked Cade.

  Daymon sauntered back to the others, machete in hand. He wiped off the blade in the tall grass. Then, sheathing Kindness, he said, “No, but thanks. I’m going to do a little exploring east of here to get a better lay of the land.”

  “Killing and running?” quipped Duncan.

  “Hey now … I saved Lev’s bacon,” replied Daymon.

  “Thanks,” Lev said dryly as he picked up the bow and gave it a once-over.

  “Just effin with you,” said Daymon, smiling and slapping Lev on the shoulder.

  Throwing a visible shiver, Duncan said, “You gonna go off and leave those heads in the road so they can eye-fuck every piece of fresh meat that comes along?”

  “That can be our new calling card,” answered Daymon. “Let people know we have eyes everywhere.” His expression went serious. “Reminds me. I’m working on setting up some more perimeter defenses at the house. Better give me and Heidi a heads up next time you pay us a visit.”

  Cade slung the three ARs over his shoulder. “We’ll be sure to. Regular channel.”

  Daymon nodded. Held up both hands fingers splayed and mouthed, “Ten.” Then he folded all but the pointer on his left hand and said, “One.”

  Cade nodded. “Thanks again for the snowmobile. I owe you.”

  “More where that came from,” said Daymon. “We only need two.” He donned the hat to the ghillie suit, arranging the strands of burlap so that only his eyes were visible.

  Cade grabbed Daymon by the arm and led him a few yards away from the group, talking as he walked.

  Wilson looked to Lev. “Wonder what’s up with that.”

  “If Delta Boy tells us, he’ll have to kill us,” cracked Duncan.

  Lev watched the two finish talking and when they returned, he approached Daymon and handed over the crossbow.

  Daymon took the bow and without another word set off eastbound on Center.

  Cade and the others watched him go for a beat, then struck off on foot, walking single file in the direction of the 39/16 junction.

  Chapter 50

  The girls were sitting sidesaddle on the snowmobile in the box bed of the F-650 when Cade and the others returned carrying the spoils taken off the dead cannibals. Like spokes on a wagon wheel, nearly twenty rotter corpses lay in a ragged semicircle in the long grass next to the Raptor. The nearer Cade got to the Z corpses, the more it became evident to him that a fair amount of them had been felled by someone attacking from the bed of the Raptor. Which told him that the person engaging them hadn’t been afraid to get their hands dirty. Some of the prostrate Zs nearest to the Raptor bore puckered, inch-long stab wounds to the temple. Suggestive of point-blank blade strikes from above; others were left with an eye socket weeping scrambled brains.

  “What took you so long?” shot Jamie, feigning a look at the wristwatch still hidden underneath her shirtsleeve.

  Cade glanced at his Suunto, then looked up at her. “All that and we still have nearly two hours of daylight left.”

  With the others already stowing their gear, Cade picked his way to the rear of the F-650 carrying a jerry can full of gas in one hand and an M4 in the other. Along the way, he scrutinized the corpses littering the ground on the Raptor’s right flank. It was obvious to him that the ones felled farthest from the truck were Jamie’s doing. Though he hadn’t been witness to the attack, the deep chasms to the rear of their skulls told him she was learning to wield her war tomahawk with great precision. He guessed her footfalls were drowned out by the plaintive calls of the hungry dead as she crept up to the late-to-arrive Zs and culled them from behind.

  He placed the gas can on the F-650’s open tailgate. Shoved it forward until it was wedged in tight next to the snowmobile and protruding wheel well. He opened the Pelican case and quickly broke down the MSR, snugging each component into its dedicated slot in the gray foam padding.

  One at a time, Duncan slid the liberated rifles into the bed next to Ray and Helen’s shrouded corpses. Finished, he looked up at Taryn, who was still lounging on the snowmobile and watching the men load the trucks. He said, “While the mice are away the cat do play.”

  “Held the fort down,” she said.

  Moving his gaze to Jamie, Duncan said, “And you let that axe of yours loose, I see.”

  “Taryn didn’t need my help,” replied Jamie defensively.

  Duncan raised his hands in mock surrender and slowly backed away from the open tailgate.

  “I don’t think that’s where he was going with his comment,” said Cade.

  Jamie apologized to Duncan for snapping at him. She regarded Lev and Cade. “I’m just looking out for the fairer sex. Us girls have to stick together.”

  Cade squeezed between the F-650 and school bus and opened the rear door. He stowed the Pelican case behind the front seats, closed the door, and then slapped the sheet metal. “Mount up,” he called. He took hold of the grab handle and stood on the running board. Whispering to Jamie across the Ford’s roof, he said, “Thanks for taking Raven under your wing while I was gone.”

  “She’s a great kid … but—” Letting the word hang in the air, she stepped from the snowmobile and clambered into the Raptor’s bed.

  Concern creeping into his voice, Cade called, “What do you mean by that?”

  “She’s taking the loss of her mom pretty hard. She punched a mirror and cut her knuckle.”

  Cade nodded. “It’s to be expected. I take it Glenda patched her up.”

  Jamie was already opening the Raptor’s passenger side rear door. She paused. Part of her wanted to mention the other blood, but she held back. Instead, she simply assured Cade that his daughter was in “good hands.”

  Still standing on the running board and staring across the F-650’s roof, Cade said, “I appreciate you.” He saw a word begin to form and a brief spark of recognition show in Jamie’s eyes. Then she frowned and swiveled her head to the left.

  Cade looked a question at her.

  She put a finger to her lips.

  On the far side of the Raptor, Duncan was watching a pair of rotters staggering up the state route when he also cocked an ear and started a slow pirouette to the north.

  A few yards away, Wilson was climbing into his usual seat—the one minus pedals and a steering wheel—when he also went rigid and turned his undivided attention to the north.

  Oblivious to what was going on around him, Lev stowed his rifle on the floor behind Wilson’s seat. When he emerged, he went stock still and said, “Who is it?”

  Hearing
the sound of rumbling engines at the same time as everyone save for Lev, Taryn had slowly risen up off the snowmobile seat and, so as to not give them all away, poked just the upper third of her head over the school bus.

  Cade stepped from the Ford, bringing his M4 with him. He looked up at Taryn. “What do you got?”

  Without establishing eye contact, she answered by showing him her hand, fingers and thumb fully extended.

  Five, thought Cade. Grabbing the Steiners from off the seat Taryn was kneeling on, he scrabbled over the side of the bed and slowly rose up next to her. Cognizant of the fact the radio in his pocket tuned to the cannibal’s frequency was still silent, he glassed the formidable-looking convoy.

  In the lead was the Jackson Police Department Tahoe Alexander Dregan had recently gifted to Ray Thagon. The needle antenna quivered as the tuned SUV sucked up a dip in the road near the north end of town where 16 became Main Street. Once sporting the letters BRPD to denote it belonged to Bear River’s fledgling security apparatus, the black and white was now emblazoned with the letters AVPD. The new markings were stenciled in silver over the top of the old. Speaking to a rushed job, the paint had run and then dried, looking like so many icicles hanging off the letters.

  Without taking his eyes off the rapidly approaching Tahoe, Cade asked, “The initials AV mean anything to you?”

  At once Taryn said, “Adrian Ville. Saw it spray painted on the signs up north.”

  “They were either poking around in Randolph when we sprang our ambush and were called in over another channel, or they were just down the road and acting as a quick reaction force of sorts.”

  “If it was the latter,” Taryn said, “why didn’t they come when the shooting started?”

  “Good question,” answered Cade. “I’m pretty sure I killed the leader before she got a call out. And Duncan took out the only other person with a radio. Since the shooting started up near simultaneously, I doubt she got a call out.”