The Rise of Macon: A Zombie Novel (Macon Saga Book 2)

by Micah Gurley

  "Go ahead and open the trailer up," Ben said, making a crazy hand gesture. "Might be it's loaded with food and we won't have to go in there."

  Patrick grabbed the door handle and slid it all the way up to the top. Empty. He turned around and smiled at everyone. "Looks like we're going shopping."

  Billy, made his way up to the top of the dock with his son and Jack, and headed for the metal door, which was partially open. "Let's clear this place and get this done. I feel like we're on the clock here."

  Everyone headed for the door, but waited when Billy put his hand up and stopped. Everyone froze and that's when they heard it. The sound of feet moving. It was more than one person and they were making a lot of noise. Things were being kicked or dropped on the floor inside the store. Everyone froze.

  "Back away from the door, the sounds are coming this way," Billy said. "Back up against the stairs, we don't want to jump if there are too many of them."

  The group backed up, their guns and swords drawn, as they waited to see who or what would come out of the dark space in the building. They didn't wait long. Five seconds later, a group of diseased stumbled out of the door, those behind slowed at the chokepoint. The diseased stumbled and floundered in ones and twos through the door. The first two diseased, both of whom appeared to be shoppers, gave a high shriek, which sent the remaining diseased into a frenzy. The two shoppers weren't covered in blood or gore, but both had bite marks in various places.

  The shoppers headed straight at the group of survivors who were huddled together near the stairs. Patrick met the first one that came within striking distance and placed his sword in the middle of the man's face. The diseased shopper jerked and wavered for a second before falling back, yanking the sword straight out of Patrick's hand.

  The second diseased didn't get close, as Billy pulled his side arm out and shot the thing in chest and neck, before hitting it again in the head and dropping it. With the sound of the bullets, everyone else gave up the attempt of quiet and pulled their weapons out. The deafening sound of multiple shots rang out on the dock. Three more diseased went down after receiving more than ten rounds a piece. Five were down, but the next wave followed behind, dragging themselves closer, their claw like hands reaching out in desperation.

  Abe tried to focus his Beretta on the diseased, but his hands shook. He took a knee, like Kyle taught him, but it still wasn't enough and he found it hard to focus on the sights instead of the blood covered nightmares trying eat him. He pulled the trigger again and again, each time blinking his eyes at the sound of the small weapon. He stopped, looked again, and saw that he’d finally hit the diseased crawling his way. His eyes quickly spotted another, this one much quicker, making its way to him, its foggy white eyes aimed in his direction. He raised the Beretta again and squeezed the trigger. Nothing. He squeezed again, this time harder, more frantic to make the gun fire. Nothing. He turned his eyes from the broken gun to the diseased that was almost on him and knew it was all over.

  A black form dashed by him, a big blur that smelled of sweet tobacco. The blur, a man, kicked the diseased so hard it flew back at least three feet into the legs of another man.

  Abe looked up to see a lightly bearded giant of man who smiled back. "Hey, mind if I borrow that?" He pointed at Kyle's Beretta that lay forgotten in Abe's hand. Abe, frozen with terror at this point, could only move his arm a little. The big man took this as a yes, reached over and gently took the gun from him.

  "Thanks, I'll give it back in a minute." The man pulled back the slide, turned the Beretta on its side and a bent piece of brass fell out. He released the slide and advanced on a pair of diseased that were regaining their feet. They groaned and shrieked as the man closed with them. The man in black quickly walked up to them and dispatched them one after another. He turned to look around, shook his head and walked back to Abe, who was still on his knees.

  "Here you go, thanks. Those things can jam at the worst times, can't they?" He reached a baseball mitt hand down and offered it to Abe. "I think we're about done here."

  Abe looked around.It was true, all the infected were dead. What had replaced them were, what seemed to Abe, a bunch of black vested giants with beards. Abe turned his head back to the big man beside him, still smiling at him, and grabbed his hand. The big man quickly pulled him back to his feet and Abe took a minute to make sure he could stand before he did anything else. The giant bearded men were all standing among Abe’s friends, both groups looking at each other, tension floating around them.

  One of the black leathered men, this one regular size, stepped forward and nodded his head at everyone. The man carried a knife, which he wiped off on his jeans, then put back in his belt. He was older than the others in his group, his beard and long hair completely grey. "Hey guys, we were coming this way and heard the commotion, hope you don't mind that we stepped in."

  "Who are you?" Billy said, stepping toward the older man, holstering his Beretta.

  A loud, craggy voice spoke up, "Can't you see? He's an Outlaw," said Old Ben, moving beside Billy.

  Patrick moved up, shaking his head knowingly. He put one of his hands up, as if to calm everyone down. "Old Ben, We don't call them outlaws anymore, we call them criminals, but I'm sure they're just good people."

  "No, you purple headed canker blossom! They're Outlaws, bikers," said Old Ben, pointing at their vests.

  All eyes turned to the old man with the grey beard. The survivors from the fort looked from his face to his black vest, which sported a skull on it. The skull seemed to be grinning, showing a lot of teeth, and in his mouth he was biting something that extended to each side of his teeth.

  "He's right, we're Outlaws, but not criminals. We own a bike shop near Raleigh. We were just here for a holiday weekend at the beach, when all this started. We've been lying low at the beach house for the last two or three days. The town was flooded and we couldn't get through. Then, we saw someone lead all the diseased away today and we decided to get some food. We're near starving. That's why we're here."

  "That was our man drawing them away, we needed some food also," said Billy. "We don’t want any trouble. I'm sure there's food enough for both groups in this store. Sound alright?"

  The man smiled. "Sounds more than fair." He turned to his bikers and they headed into the store. The group from Macon watched them enter, walking slowly to make sure there weren't any diseased left in the storage area.

  "Let's get this done," Old Ben said. "Time's a wasting."

  Abe entered the building, the storage area dark, with only emergency lighting still up, giving it an evil feel. His nerves were already frazzled from the fight at the loading dock, but he knew the store was probably being cleared by the bikers. He'd almost died ten minutes ago and was trying to forget that, to push past it. But how could he? How did people just forget about their entire existence almost ending, then keep moving ahead, acting as if it didn't matter? He needed to learn and learn quick, but wondered if his brain just wasn't wired that way.

  He followed Patrick, unusually quiet, and Billy, who pushed through a pair of swinging doors into the front part of the store. The front was lighter, with natural light flooding through the large glass doors in the front of the store. The place was quiet. Abe saw the bikers in front of him who had split up, each taking an aisle and moving down it. He followed his own group, not wanting to take the lead. Billy motioned them over.

  "We need to get things that will last and a lot of it. Think rice, flour and canned goods. Let’s break into teams and get moving. Jack and my son will stay near the loading dock, covering our rear. Let's go."

  Abe watched the college kid, Jack, and Billy's son head back out the swinging doors, then turned to find Patrick smiling at him. "Let's go man, got to get some fruit roll ups for the kids."

  Abe smiled, thankful to Patrick for reminding him there was still humor in the world.

  ***

  The finding and loading of food went more quickly than Abe would have thought. Everyone move
d with a purpose, and that purpose was to not get killed. The shuffling sound of moving feet between the loading dock and store, became a constant flow as people moved around each other, all trying to work as fast as possible.

  Abe, arms full with a 50 pound bag of rice, followed a biker back through the swinging doors and deposited his haul onto the dock, near the trailer. Jack and Billy's son had moved from guard duty to loading duty and a lot of food was being put in the truck, though it was a big trailer and they hadn't taken up much room. Abe saw Billy talking with the leader of the bikers near the stairs of the dock, and walked over to see what was going on.

  "I don't know, Wes, it's not really my call to make," Billy said to the older man. Billy saw Abe move over and turned to look at him. "Abe, Wes here has a proposition. They need a place to stay for a few days. In return, they'll help us load all the food and get out of here quicker."

  Billy seemed to be asking Abe's permission, but Abe didn't feel like he was the guy to ask. He was thinking through the ramifications when the lightly bearded giant that helped him earlier walked over. "Hey pop," he said, "we got about as much as we can carry, or push in those grocery carts. Time to go?"

  The older man looked from the newcomer to Abe, considering. Abe looked up at the younger man. "This is your dad?"

  "I don't like to claim it, but he is," returned the big man. "Didn't have time to meet you earlier, name's Rich." He held out his hand again and Abe took it. The man’s hand swallowed his own, but the big man didn't put any extra pressure, no contesting of will. Rich had light brown hair, a long nose and an even larger Adam's apple, which poked out in dramatic fashion. He looked like a muscled version of Ichabod Crane. What drew Abe to the big man, even more than his saving him earlier, was the smile. Abe thought himself a good judge of character, who doesn't, and he liked the big man. He also thought it spoke well that he got along with his father.

  While thinking about the offer, the group was joined by two bikers Abe hadn't seen earlier. Abe only need a glance to know he didn't have a good feeling about them. The first man, not taller than average, walked like a mix between viper and peacock. He had a dark complexion, with even darker eyes, eyes that would have been more natural in one of the fallen. Unlike his fellow bikers, this man sported no beard, no goatee, just the stubble of a man who hadn't shaved in a few days. Another difference was his hair, or lack of hair, for the man was completely bald. Abe sensed something dark about him, a shadow to the man which spoke of danger.

  Beside the bald man, towering over him like a child, was a Sasquatch of a man. Grease, dirt and filth were his attire, with a beard that hung to his stomach. He exuded the power of a Lion, with the creased face of a monkey, until one looked again and saw the face for what it was, the face of a savage.

  "Did they ask for help?" asked the bald man. He talked with his head down and eyes up, as if he were looking through his brow. His voice was slippery and full of scorn. He didn't look at Billy or Abe.

  Wes gave a horse laugh and slapped the man on the shoulder. "Hardly Dave, we offered to pitch in if we could stay at their place for a few days."

  Abe thought Dave didn't like Wes slapping him, nor the way he casually shut him down. He caught Billy's eyes, both men asking themselves the same question. Can we trust them? If it were just Dave and Goliath here, then Abe wouldn't even have had to think about it, but he liked Wes and Rich. More importantly, they were in charge.

  Abe made a decision and hoped it was the right one, otherwise, it could place everyone in a lot of danger. He turned to Wes. "You know what you're asking, don't you? In these times? We've already had more than one incident with people who want to hurt us or take what we have."

  The older man kept his eyes on Abe. "I understand. You have my word, we're just looking to get out and back to our people."

  Abe accepted his word, and turned to talk to Billy privately. "The decision was made to help those people who needed it. I think we need to, besides I trust Wes and his son, they seem like good people."

  "I agree," said Billy, "about those two, but I don't think I trust all of them."

  "Me either. How about we accept, but keep our guard up. Kyle should be back tonight and can put his two cents in."

  Billy nodded, then turned to Wes, ignoring the others. "We agree, but when the professor comes back, you'll have to talk to him. He calls the shots."

  "Sounds okay to me," said Wes, reaching up and putting his hand on his son's wide shoulders. "Let's get this stuff loaded and out of here then.

  Almost as if on cue, Patrick ran up with news. "We got diseased coming."

  "How many?" asked Billy.

  "Just a few, but more seem to be wandering back."

  "Okay, let's get the last bit loaded and get the truck going."

  The group turned to go, but not before Abe turned and saw Dave leering at him, a smile on his face. He didn't like the guy, but he'd been wrong before. Besides, he wasn't in charge.

  The next few minutes rained pandemonium as everyone tried to throw all the food they could in the back of the trailer. Wes, Rich, Billy, Patrick and a few others headed out to stop the first of the diseased making their way around the building. In one's and two, they were easily able to kill the diseased, as they trudged up, but every kill brought two more, until everyone had to fall back. Directions were yelled and Old Ben and a few others jumped in the cab of the shiny black truck, now loaded and ready to go. Everyone else jumped in the trailer, and slid the door closed, locking them in darkness.

  "Next stop, Fort Macon, boys," said Patrick in the black of the trailer. "And then we're going to make some biscuits."

  Chapter 9

  Neil walked through the lobby of the motel, his gait confident and sure. He'd spent extra time this morning making sure his uniform was immaculate and his appearance well groomed. Three days had passed since they'd moved into the hotel and marina. He'd spent that time shoring up his defenses and getting organized. He was making a difference here, he was building something and he knew this was where he belonged. Among these people who didn't know how to survive, among these lambs, he was the shepherd. He'd found his calling.

  He spotted two of the new survivors making their way across the other side of the lobby. They two spotted him, quickly dropped their gaze, and continued walking. They were afraid of him and Neil had come to realize he was okay with it. Better than okay, they needed to be scared, so he could keep them alive. He knew what was best for them, even if they didn't. There were more than thirty survivors now stationed at the Hotel and he was making them into an army. An army that would bring justice to this island.

  He almost made it to the front doors when he heard screams coming from outside. Neil picked up his pace to find out why someone had broken the noise restriction. He'd told everyone to keep the chatter down, but they were amateurs, not yet the professionals he'd make them.

  "Commander! Commander!"

  Neil heard the words and smiled to himself. Neil knew titles were important, and he was well suited to this one. There must be rules and there must be someone in charge; that was him. Any organization would do the same. He pushed open the glass door and saw one of the younger boys running full out in his direction. The boy was moving at an angle, every few seconds looking back over his shoulder, almost causing him to trip over himself.

  Neil stopped outside the doors of the hotel and held up a hand, indicating for the boy to stop. The teenager skidded to a stop in the gravel parking lot and tried to talk, his words jumbled.

  "Report, soldier, and say it clearly! And why are you away from your post?" Neil demanded. He wouldn't have his soldiers deserting their posts. Not now. Not in war.

  "Commander, I was at the far post …”

  "XR-1," interrupted Neil harshly. "You will learn the call sign of all the posts." This particular post was the farthest one from the hotel. It was stationed in an old house they'd found and cleared on the side of the road. From its vantage point,on the second story, a person could see the
edge of town if they used binoculars. It was an important post and Neil's anger built at it being left empty.

  The teen boy looked back at Neil in utter confusion. He quickly turned and looked back over his shoulder, his eyes wide with fear. "Sir, they're coming!"

  Neil let the slip on the post go at the words of boy. "Who's coming?"

  "I saw a big truck driving through town and it was honking its horn over and over again, just staying ahead of the diseased. The people in the truck were leading the diseased after them. There are millions of them. The whole town was following him. All the dead people were following it and now they're all coming this way. "

  Neil cringed at the information; he wasn't ready yet. His defensive positions weren't ready and they had nowhere near enough weapons. He quickly focused his mind back on the story. "Is the truck still leading them?"

  "No commander, it pulled ahead and then turned down a side street, but a few minutes later it came back out and crashed into them. The dead people swarmed over the truck for a few minutes, but most of them them kept walking in our direction."

  Neil stood, stunned at how this could have happened. Why would someone drive directly into a mob and kill themselves? Why would they lead the mob away from town? Neil dismissed the questions for the time being, knowing he needed to get his people to safety.

  "Good job soldier. I need to you tell everyone Code Red. That means-" Neil stopped as it hit him. Kyle Smalls. Kyle had done this to him. He deliberately led all those diseased this way, to finish him off. Of course he did. That was exactly the kind of thing Kyle would do, something sneaky, something cowardly, something where he wouldn't get hurt. He must have followed him somehow. But how? Didn't matter. Just one more crime that Kyle would pay for.

  "Code Red?" the boy asked, flinching when Neil turned his blazing eyes on him.

  "Get everyone to gather the emergency food and water and get them to the boats. Go! Now!"