by David Spell
Tomorrow was the day, Beth contemplated. There had been no training today, Chuck telling her to rest and visit with her friends. She had kissed him, leaving him field stripping and cleaning their weapons, as well as checking out all their equipment in her room.
Later in the day, after visiting with a number of friends and and dropping by the command center to have a long chat with Tina and Jake, Benton walked back to the dormitory. The tingle of excitement ran through her entire body as she crossed the beautiful campus that had become her home. She was both excited and scared. A sense of anticipation and fear filled her mind. The fear of the unknown loomed large, but the thrill of being with Chuck almost drowned it out.
What did their future hold? He really wants me with him, she thought. He doesn’t have to take me as he continues his quest to find his daughter, but he made it very clear that he loves me and wants me to be part of this journey. More importantly, though, he wants me to be part of his life. This man loves me like I’ve never been loved before.
As she opened the door to her dorm room, she realized that her life would never be the same.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A New Journey
Hartwell, Georgia, Monday, 0900 hours
The entire campus had turned out earlier to tell them goodbye. The gruff Marine, Jake Nicholson, had grabbed Chuck in a bear hug.
“Make sure you bring me a bottle of something good when you come back for a visit.”
“You got it, Jake.”
Jake gently hugged Elizabeth as Tina embraced Chuck. “I’m praying for you guys. Y’all take care of each other. I look forward to meeting your daughter when you come to see us.”
Robert and Karen, holding hands McCain noted approvingly, made sure they personally got to tell Chuck and Elizabeth goodbye. Clayton shook McCain’s hand while Karen and Elizabeth hugged. Chuck expected a wisecrack as Karen grabbed him in a tight embrace. Instead, she just said, softly, “I love you. Please take care of my friend.”
The tears were flowing as Elizabeth hugged Alicia, whispering something in her ear. The young woman cried even harder after hearing Benton’s words. After a few moments, Alicia walked over to Chuck, wiping her eyes.
She looked into the face of the man who had saved her life and threw herself into his arms, starting to cry again. When she finally regained her composure, Alicia spoke quietly so that only Chuck could hear her words.
“I should be mad at you, taking Miss Benton away and all, but I’m not. You’re a good man, Mr. McCain, and you already know how I feel about Miss Benton. I think you two deserve each other. I hope you’ll be safe and happy together, and I want you to know that I’ll never forget you.”
A few miles down the road, Chuck reached over from the backseat and touched Elizabeth’s arm. “Are you OK?”
She made eye contact with him in the rear view mirror. She tried to smile but he could see on her face how hard the farewell had been. McCain gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze and returned to looking for threats. He’d let her talk it out or cry it out later. They had so much to discuss, he thought, suddenly feeling butterflies fluttering around in his stomach.
The roads were clear and there was no sign of any zombies or human predators. The houses they’d passed all appeared to be deserted, many of them boarded up. It was a little over fifteen miles from the college to the outskirts of the small town of Hartwell. According the map, it would then be another five or six miles to Brian’s home, located northeast of the city, on Lake Hartwell.
Chuck had Elizabeth stop as the houses got closer together and the trees started thinning out, indicating that they were coming into the city limits. McCain climbed into the bed of the pickup and peered through his binoculars. With Chuck looking through the binos, Beth scanned the area, her rifle up and ready.
McCain knew that this was a small community of around five thousand people, just south of Lake Hartwell, a large man-made lake. Approximately half of the body of water was located in Georgia while the other half fell across the border in South Carolina. The lake and the area surrounding it had been a popular recreation area featuring boating, fishing, and camping, with plenty of places for families to have picnics. Chuck remembered early in his police career spending time on a fellow police officer’s houseboat, fishing and drinking beer. Having access to a boat in the current crisis would not be a bad thing if all the other escape routes were closed off.
The Mitchells, Brian’s family, had a home that sat right on the lake, and Brian had taken Mel there after they’d fled the carnage at UGA. The challenge was going to be getting through or around the small town. This was a very rural section of Georgia and the number of roads were limited.
As McCain had studied the maps which Karen had provided, he’d come to the conclusion that they could skirt around the north edge of the city on their way to the Mitchell’s home. This gave them a few more options for escape than they would have going through downtown on the narrow city streets. They didn’t want a repeat of their trip through Carnesville from several weeks earlier, where their vehicle was almost boxed in by infected. This entire area looked like it had been evacuated, as the governor had ordered, but a large group of Zs in a confined area could be disastrous.
Chuck got back into the Tundra. “How’s it look?” Elizabeth queried.
“Everything looks clear. According to the map, we’re going to make a left turn as we come around this curve. That road will put us back onto Highway 51 north. Take a right on that and I’ll guide you as we go. With no surprises, we should be able to avoid the downtown area of Hartwell. It’s only about a mile to Ridge Road, then it’s a straight shot to Brian’s house. Just remember everything we drilled. You’re a great driver,” he said, reaching up and patting her shoulder. “Take a deep breath, listen to me, and let’s get going.”
The city limits really did look deserted. That is, until Beth turned off of Highway 51 onto a pretty, tree-lined residential street. A group of three male and two female infected, all badly decomposed, shuffled slowly towards them from the opposite direction. Their clothes were in tatters and their gray flesh was rotting away.
“No problem,” Chuck said calmly. “Drive towards them and right before you get there, steer around them. I don’t think any of that group is going to be moving very fast.”
“That’s so nasty,” Elizabeth shook her head at the Zs coming their way.
Benton followed McCain’s directions, accelerating, then jerking the steering wheel to the left to avoid the zombies. Chuck was right, these Zs looked like they were in slow-motion as they turned to follow the fast-moving vehicle. A part of Chuck wanted to stop and put bullets in each of the Zs’ heads, but they had to stay focused on their mission. Stopping for every group of infected they saw would only slow them down.
“That wasn’t so bad,” Beth commented, slowing for a sharp curve to the right. “Maybe all of the…Oh, crap! That one’s coming right at us!”
McCain had seen it at the same time she had. A young, twenty-something zombie male had sprinted out from behind a house on their left. In an instant Chuck saw that this Z wasn’t decomposed at all, which meant he was very recently infected.
He had been a clean-cut, white male wearing a navy polo shirt and jeans. His throat had a gaping wound, blood covering his neck and chest. McCain saw that the zombie’s trajectory was going to bring him directly into the driver’s door of the truck. As a southpaw, Chuck’s rifle was pointing out the right side of the Tundra. His suppressed Glock, however, was laying next to his left leg.
The pistol came up and McCain fired three fast shots at the running zombie. Shooting one-handed as the Toyota slowed for the curve, Chuck was happy to see one 9mm hollow point bury itself in the Z’s sternum, slowing him down slightly. His first head shot missed, but the next round punched through the infected sprinter’s growling mouth and out the back of his skull, sending him to the pavement. Beth accelerated out of the curve, speeding away through the neighborhood.
A T-int
ersection with a stop sign came up in front of them. “Which way?” Beth asked, her voice surprisingly calm.
“Right, then your first left. You’re doing great.”
As Elizabeth drove down Reynolds Street, they saw the Hart County Health Department on their right, three figures congregating in front of the building. McCain saw that these zombies had also been infected for a while, the Zs in various stages of decomposition. An obese white woman in a bloody white nurse’s uniform started growling and walking slowly towards the road. An infected older African-American couple followed the nurse as the truck quickly left them behind.
The elementary school for the region was also on the right side of the street and appeared deserted, thank God, Chuck thought. There were no more zombies, for the moment anyway. McCain’s head continued to turn, left, right, and to the rear, watching their surroundings, rifle in hand.
“Isn’t this such a pretty little town?” Beth’s voice broke the silence. “Back before, you know, before everything happened, my parents and I would come over here sometimes during the summer and have a picnic on the lake. The downtown area is really cute and has some nice shops. I wonder if it’ll ever get back to normal?”
They were approaching another T-intersection. Chuck was amazed at the change in Elizabeth. This was not the same girl who had driven them through a pack of zombies in Carnesville a few weeks before. She seemed to have somehow harnessed her fear and focused it into energy for their mission.
“We’ll turn right at that next street,” McCain said. “Savannah Street will take us to Ridge. I hope it gets back to normal soon because I’d love to be able to walk around the square of some small town with you. In fact, what I’d really like is for the two of us to take a trip to somewhere exotic. What would you think of maybe a thirty-day vacation? You can pick the place, anywhere you want to go.”
Benton steered the truck onto Savannah Street and smiled broadly at McCain in the rear view mirror, her eyes big in anticipation. “Anywhere? Could we really do that, Chuck? I haven’t traveled very much and that would be so much fun! Where do I turn now?”
“That’s Ridge Road just ahead,” he pointed. “Turn left and we’ll stay on it for maybe seven or eight miles. The Mitchells evidently have a house right on the water.”
After less than a mile, however, Beth was forced to brake again, Chuck immediately seeing why. A group of fifteen zombies were standing in the middle of Ridge Road at a four-way intersection, a hundred feet from them. As one, the pack started towards the big pickup, spreading out and covering both lanes. To their right, McCain saw a rundown, low-income apartment complex. Ten more infected were moving their way from one of the stairwells.
“I think it’s time to test out that reinforced bumper Jake installed on the front of this thing,” Chuck said. “Same drill. Aim for the middle of the pack and when you get close, steer for wherever they look thinner.”
These were a mixed bag between recently infected and decomposing. They were also a diverse group of black, white, and Hispanic zombies, the virus playing no favorites.
“Put your windows up,” Chuck ordered, reaching over and putting up the two rear windows and the automatic back window, as well. “Don’t stop for anything. We’re almost there.”
Elizabeth nodded. Chuck saw the fear in her eyes, but he also noted a confidence on her face that he had not seen before. The group coming from the apartment complex was almost to them. The group up the street was just fifty feet from them now.
Benton shoved the accelerator to the floor, throwing McCain backwards against his seat. She drove down the middle of the road, straddling the double-yellow line. The two biggest Zs looked like Mexicans, one still wearing a cowboy hat. They were both in the middle of the zombie horde, reaching for the vehicle and growling.
At the last possible second, Beth steered to the right, slamming into a young black woman and a Hispanic teen male, knocking them both into the air and creating a hole for the Tundra to drive through. Dead hands clawed at the truck as it shot by. A twenty-something white male grabbed at the driver’s side rear view mirror, only to be jerked off of his feet and run over by the rear tire of the Toyota pickup.
The road ahead of them appeared to be free of threats as Elizabeth sped away. McCain looked back, noting that the big group was shuffling after them. I wonder how long they’ll follow us?
They put their windows back down and for the next five miles all was clear. The closer they got to the lake, the nicer the homes became, all of them also appearing to have been abandoned. It was a strange thing to see these huge houses and no one there to enjoy them. A modern-looking church with a sprawling parking area was ahead of them on their right. A large sign identified it as the Hartwell Community Church.
“Can you pull in over there at that church?” Chuck asked. “Park in the middle of the lot, facing out.”
When she stopped, McCain handed her a bottle of water. “Great driving! How you feeling?”
Elizabeth took a long drink and self-evaluated. “I’m actually really good. I’ve had an amazing teacher.” She turned so she could look at her boyfriend. “Working with you over the last couple of weeks has really made a difference in the way I’m thinking. I’m still scared, but there’s also a confidence deep inside me that I’ve never felt before. We have a plan and we’ve talked through so many contingencies that I feel prepared.
“It’s weird, Chuck,” she said, with a shy smile. “I feel this tingle. I don’t even know how to describe it, but it’s like I’m almost enjoying this. Is that wrong?”
McCain took a swallow of water from his own bottle and chuckled. “A tingle, huh? You’re riding the adrenaline. You’ve heard the term ‘adrenaline-junkie?’ You just had your first hit of that drug and it can be pretty addicting.”
Chuck held the map over the seat so Beth could see it. “I think we’re only about 2 miles from the house. The first thing we’ll do when we get there is walk around the outside of it, seeing what we can see. Then we’ll figure out the best way to get inside. When we do, just remember everything we worked on when we trained room clearing.”
“I just remember this big, strong man grabbing me and kissing me inside those classroom buildings,” she grinned, looking back over her shoulder. When he didn’t smile back, Benton said, “I’m just kidding. I remember and I’ll follow your lead.”
Hartwell, Georgia, Monday, 1000 hours
As they got closer to the lake, the architecture of the homes became more luxurious, and the homes doubled in size. Many Atlantans or folks from Greenville, South Carolina, had lake homes to go with their big city jobs, since the economy had been booming steadily over the past forty years. According to the map, the Mitchell’s lake home was almost at the end of a peninsula that jutted out into the water. McCain didn’t like the idea of being on a dead end street, but he had no choice. He just hoped this would not be a wasted trip.
“It looks like we’re less than a mile,” he told Benton.
As they rounded a sharp curve, however, a roadblock was directly in front of them, fifty yards away. Two SUVs and a Ford F-350 pickup blocked the roadway, end-to-end, preventing anyone from passing. Two men in their forties, one black and one white, and a younger white man in his twenties pointed rifles at them from behind the cover of the vehicles. Out of his peripheral vision, Chuck saw movement and picked out a fourth man behind a tree next to a beautiful two-story brick home to his left, sixty yards away.
Elizabeth slammed on the brakes. “What do I do?” Anxiety filled her voice.
“Be cool. Put your hands up and smile. They’ve got the drop on us.”
The older white man had a white beard, was wearing an Atlanta Braves ball cap, and was holding an AK-47. “Turn the vehicle off and put your hands up,” White Beard commanded, McCain picking up a hint of nervousness in the man’s voice. “Step out of the truck without any weapons and walk towards me with your hands up.”
“Chuck?” Beth asked.
“Turn it of
f and keep smiling.”
McCain yelled out the open window to his left, “No problem. I’m taking my rifle off and I’m getting out. We don’t mean you any harm.”
To Beth he said, quietly, “Stay in the truck. I think we’re OK but if this goes south, crank it up, get low, and get the hell outta of here.”
Chuck pulled his M4 off and angled it down with the muzzle to the floor. He left the Glock on the seat and removed his kevlar helmet, exiting the truck. The big man walked slowly towards the roadblock, smiling the friendliest smile he could muster, his hands even with his shoulders. Didn’t I just go through this a few weeks ago, walking towards a bunch of men pointing guns at me? I sure hope I’m reading this one right, he thought.
“My name’s Chuck,” he stated, stopping twenty feet from the barricade. “We’re heading to an address just up the road from here.”
McCain saw the man’s expression change but the AK was still pointed at his chest. “What’s your last name, Chuck?”
“McCain. Chuck McCain. I’m guessing you gents live around here. I’m on my way to the Mitchell’s house. I don’t know them but my daughter is dating Brian and I talked to Tommy on the phone a couple of times before the grid went down.”
The muzzle of the AK was lowered and the speaker said something to his companions. They lowered their rifles, as well.
“Mr. McCain, what was your last job, before everything went to hell?”
“I’m a federal police officer with the Centers for Disease Control. Can I put my hands down now? I’ve got ID if you want to see it. I’m just wanting to get to my daughter and I’m hoping the Mitchells left me some clue as to where they were going.”
“Who do you have with you in truck, Mr. McCain?”
“That’s my girlfriend, Elizabeth. We’re traveling together, just the two of us.”