A Place Called Hope (Z-Day Book 2)

by Daniel Humphreys

  Kendra gave him a silent nod and adjusted the strap of the M4 slung over her shoulder. After finding so many of the weapons, they’d only been able to cobble together four working guns. They’d brought two with them to supplement the weapons they’d brought along yesterday, and left two behind with Pat and Stacy. Richard and Kendra had given the other two a pro forma training session to at least make sure they were able to fire them.

  He was staring, but Sandy resisted the urge to look away. He didn’t get the sense that she minded, though it had been a while since he’d had to worry about nonverbal cues from the opposite sex. “First time out?”

  She smiled. “Since the beginning, yeah. That obvious?”

  Sandy laughed. “Just making small talk. It’s been a while, I’m out of practice.” It was uncomfortable sitting twisted around, so he turned back to face front. He supposed he could have shifted in his seat, but the boat reacted so poorly to any motions it terrified to even think of it. He’d never spent much time on the water, though he supposed he’d have plenty of opportunities going forward.

  “Oh, just wait. Everyone’s already so tired of each other’s stories, you’re going to be the center of attention for a good long while.”

  “Great,” he said. Richard had the boat in the center of the river, but Sandy caught a flash of movement to the right on the Illinois side. “We’ve got company.”

  They followed his finger to the shoreline. There was a bit of muddy bank at that point, overhung by trees that threatened to topple into the water at any moment.

  Viscous mud coated the infected below the trees from head to toe, but its head was free to track the boat as they drew closer.

  “Should we shoot it?” Jason wondered.

  “Nah,” Richard said, looping the boat around to head south. “We’ll use it for a landmark. From the looks of it, it’s been stuck there a long time. I bet the bank is too steep or slick for it to climb out.” He cut the outboard and steered the boat back to the center of the river as they began to drift. The sound of rushing water meant that it wasn’t anywhere near silent, but it was quieter—even a little relaxing—compared to the thunder of the big engine.

  Sandy didn’t know how far north of the bridge Richard had taken them, but they drifted for a good, long while. In a way, it was peaceful. The left the trapped infected behind them, eyes focused as a group on the western bank. They saw little, other than the occasional bird. Finally, the stub of the bridge loomed to the south.

  “Go ahead and grab the paddles, but stand by,” Richard muttered. “Jason, you should be able to do most of the work with the trolling motor.”

  “Aye-aye, Captain,” the younger man replied, and the other three broke up into restrained laughter.

  As they got closer to where they’d tied up yesterday, the current became a bit much for the trolling motor to handle, so Sandy and Kendra had to paddle and, once the water was shallow enough, shove the boat into position. The key difference today as they stepped onto the Missouri side of the river was the lack of exhaustion.

  Richard grabbed Sandy by the shoulder and brought his mouth close to his ear. “Damn good idea on the outboard, my man.”

  Sandy grinned and shrugged. “What can I say,” he whispered. “Constructively lazy.”

  There were grins all around but the sense of danger on this side of the river was far too ponderous for anyone to succumb to laughter. “Hang on a second,” Richard said, pulling a handheld radio out of the bag of rag-wrapped tools he carried over one shoulder. He turned the radio on and keyed the transmit button. “Hey, PV.”

  Pat’s voice came in loud and clear. The little FRS radios were little more than fancy toys, but they were close enough to the others that it did the job fine. “I hear you, Richard.”

  “We’re here, getting ready to start. So far, so good.” The channel seemed to be clear, but they’d agreed that brevity and lack of specifics were the way to go. You never know if there’s anyone listening out there.

  The level of paranoia was new for Sandy. He’d spent most of his time since the outbreak being more afraid of the infected than other people, but he was learning fast that fellow survivors held their own distinct potential for danger.

  Richard clicked the radio off and pointed up the trail. “Slow and easy.”

  Jason led the way, though Sandy wasn’t far behind. If any threat presented itself that didn’t merit the shotgun, he could step forward and take care of it with less noise.

  The younger man eased his head up to take a look. After he studied the area, he looked back and gave a thumbs-up signal.

  So far, so good, Sandy thought. He resisted the urge to take a swig from the canteen on his hip. He was going to need it later.

  They huddled together at the top. Kendra looked a little pale at the sight of the mass of bones in front of the roadblock, and he remembered with a start that she hadn’t been with them yesterday. Hearing about it was one thing; experiencing it for yourself was something altogether different.

  “All right,” Richard said. “Kendra and I will cover you guys while you clear for a bit. Take your time. Don’t get too hot or worn out. This is going to take a while. You guys get tired, we’ll switch off.”

  “Gloves and eye protection whenever you’re working the bones,” Sandy interjected. “I don’t know how long it takes the infection to die all the way out. Best to not risk it.” They all had heavy leather gloves that sort of fit, sourced from the shop behind the showroom. The same went for the battered but serviceable safety glasses they’d dug up. Sandy pulled a tattered rag out of his pocket and folded it into a triangle. He considered it for a moment, then poured a splash of water on the center of the triangle. When he tied it over his nose and mouth, the wet spot lined up with his nostrils. He didn’t know how much it would help, but it wouldn’t hurt. Geared up, he gave a Jason a nod. “You ready?”

  It was nasty, miserable work.

  After the first hour, sweat drenched Sandy’s long-sleeve button down. He had to resist the urge to strip down to his undershirt. It was bad enough, knowing what he was handling with nothing but worn leather to serve as a safety measure. The smell wasn’t bad, and his rag made a little difference, but more than a few times he had to choke back the urge to vomit. Jason wasn’t so lucky. The younger man barely got his own rag off before depositing his breakfast into the ditch. It wasn’t so much the smell, Sandy supposed, as it was the implication. Every now and then as they sifted through the layers, they found bits of meat that weren’t so dried out, and the smell became pretty bad.

  The bones themselves weren’t heavy. After all this time, there was little meat left. But there was enough connecting tissue to hold the joints together, for the most part. And where bodies had fallen on top of bodies, the skeletal remains had mingled and interleaved together like some sort of unholy strand of Christmas lights.

  He wiped his brow with a sodden sleeve and looked up. They’d made progress, but the pile got taller closer to the barricade. This was still the easy part.

  Jason heaved a distressingly small skeleton into the ditch at the side of the road. The bones clicked as they fell onto another.

  “Man, I’m getting Army of Darkness flashbacks,” Sandy joked. “One of these guys comes up with a flute, I’m out of here.” Jason gave him a confused look, but Sandy waved it off. “Before your time, kid.” Now, on top of fatigue and dripping sweat, he felt old. Awesome.

  From his position further down the road, Richard hissed between his teeth. Sandy turned. “Switch off,” the other man called. Sandy gave him a thumbs-up and moved forward. He accepted the M4. The other man hung by as though waiting, and Sandy nodded after a moment. He flipped the safety off and pulled the charging handle back to see if there was a round in the chamber. Satisfied, Richard slapped him on the back and stalked toward the pile. He pulled his own gloves out of his pocket as he went.

  Before Sandy slung the M4, he doffed his shirt and hung it from a tree branch. By the time Richard was rea
dy to switch off it should be dry. The breeze actually felt chilly on his exposed skin, but he ignored it for the moment. The day was already getting warm, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Could be worse, it could be raining.

  He glanced across the road at Jason. The other man knelt in the spot his sister had vacated. He wiped his own face and raised an eyebrow at Sandy. “Yuck.”

  “Heard that,” Sandy agreed.

  “Sometime this afternoon?” He jerked his head back toward the diminishing pile.

  “I hope so.” Sandy pointed down the road, and Jason nodded. The two turned to stand their watch.

  Truth told, there wasn’t much to look at. Two lanes of faded blacktop with overgrown weeds and intermittent trees on either side. Way down the road, about as far as Sandy could make out, he thought he could see a dented mailbox. He wondered who’d lived there for a bit, then gave it up as a futile effort. It was more likely than not they were in the pile behind him.

  He checked his side of the road, but the brush was heavy enough that they’d have plenty of advance notice of anything pushing through. He saw a flash of white in the underbrush, and he reached out with the stock of the M4 and dragged it out of the weeds. It was the remains of a human leg. He supposed the defensive fire from the blockade had been so fierce that it dismembered some of the marching infected.

  He slung the rifle back over his shoulder and put his gloves back on. Sandy crouched down and picked up the bone. One splintered end told him little about it, but the ball joint jutting off the other end identified the femur. He brought it close to his face and rolled the bone around to study it.

  Striations of gray ran through the yellowish-white of the bone, and he felt a little sick to his stomach. He rubbed at a line of gray with the tip of one finger. After a moment, the friction brushed it away, as though his glove were an eraser and the lines random pencil scribbles.

  He cast the bone aside and wished he had some of the equipment from his lab. If he had that, then… His shoulders sagged in disappointment. There’s nothing you can do. This is beyond anyone, now.

  Sandy put his gloves back in his pockets and resumed his silent watch of the road. If he could find some medical equipment, there was still plenty he could do, though it would be more old-school than he preferred.

  They switched off every hour or so, with a short break for a lunch that none of them had the appetite for. By alternating their work, they kept at it, and by three that afternoon, they were starting to cast bodies into the river rather than the side of the road. When they started to see the concrete barriers, Richard called them to a temporary halt.

  “Sunset’s in four hours, give or take. Do we push it, try to hit the gun shop and pharmacy tonight, or do we hold off another day? I’m open to discussion.”

  “Push it,” Jason said immediately. “I get the creeps out here. I want to spend as little time outside as possible.”

  Sandy frowned. “I vote we take it slow. No offense, but Pat’s made it this long, he’ll be fine for another day. You get in a hurry, you get tired, you make mistakes. The times I tried something without thinking it all the way through, those are the times I almost didn’t make it.”

  “You’re here to tell us, though,” Jason pointed out. Sandy didn’t know what to say to that, so he nodded and shrugged.

  “I say take it slow,” Kendra added. “I know you guys have spent more time out here than I have, but we don’t have the people to go off half-cocked and lose someone because we didn’t think things through every step of the way.” Jason rolled his eyes and she stuck her tongue out at him. “Bite me, baby brother.”

  “Looks like it’s all tied up unless you’re against.” Sandy shrugged at Richard.

  He frowned. “Executive decision. You guys focus on clearing out the center lane while Kendra stands watch. If I can get that Humvee up and running, we’ll go for it. If it has to be one of the other ones, we’ll call it until the morning.”

  Sandy didn’t agree, but he wasn’t in charge. He swished his canteen around, drained the rest of the tepid water, and cocked an eyebrow at Jason. The other man shrugged and nodded, and they got back to it.

  The infected had packed in so tight near the barricade that clearing the center lane was more theory than practice. All too often Sandy and Jason had to clear out bodies on either side that started to slide down as the support in the middle of the mass came out.

  They were pulling bodies off the hood of the center Humvee when Richard slid forward between two of the vehicles. “You guys ready for some help with the Jersey barriers?”

  Sandy considered the partial skeleton he’d pulled out of the gap between the nose of the Humvee and the barrier. He mentally measured the walk around the pile of bones and sighed. It was more effort to heave it on top of the heap than to drag it to the side of the road, but he couldn’t muster up the energy to take the walk. “Sure,” he managed, and half-heartedly heaved the skeleton. Connective tissue broke on the way and it shed a few bones. He gave them an annoyed stare and considered the complete reversal his existence had taken in less than a year. He was as unaccustomed to the dull throb of pain in his back as he was the sweat saturating his clothing.

  It wasn’t all that hot, but the pang of loss that ran through Sandy as he considered air conditioning, cold water, and the crunchy nugget ice from the machine down the hall from his lab was like a fist clenched tight around his throat.

  This wasn’t all life could be. With luck, they could make something better, but at that moment, as he stared at the piles of bones, the crushing sense of all that he’d lost overwhelmed him. He didn’t realize he was staring off into space until Richard cuffed him on the arm.

  “Hey. Hey, Sandy. You still with me?”

  He snapped to attention. “Yeah. Sorry. I’m beat.”

  Richard slapped him on the back. “I hear you. Let’s get these things out of the way and you can take a load off for a bit.”

  Two of the concrete barriers covered the space in front of the center Humvee was covered, which simplified things. Rather than having to move them completely, the three men were able to lift up on the inner side and pivot the piece like an opening door. It took two crowbars, a section of rope, and plenty of cursing and straining, but they got both barriers open. The resulting opening was large enough for the vehicle to pull through.

  If it starts, of course. Sandy resisted the urge to grimace.

  Richard slid behind the wheel and held up a hand with crossed fingers. Sandy and Jason nodded. Kendra, to her credit, was taking sentry duty seriously, and had her back to the entire operation.

  For a long moment everything was still, then mechanical innards strained under the hood. Sandy realized at that moment that he knew squat about engines. One more thing to make me useless.

  The straining ended, and Richard made a face inside of the big truck. He bobbed his head as though counting to himself. The engine made the straining noise again, only this time it coughed, spat black soot out of the exhaust, and settled into a rhythmic mechanical hum.

  The volume was striking. Sandy knew that he was close to the engine, but in the stillness of the spring afternoon the sudden resurrection of the Humvee seemed out of place and even louder by contrast.

  Richard scrambled out of the front seat. “Okay, grab these hoses!” he yelled over the sound of the engine. The yell itself was just as striking, but Sandy moved to follow. One of the tools the other man had brought over was a battery-powered fuel siphon. He trailed a set of jumper cables out of the passenger door and handed one of the hoses off to Sandy. “Shove it down into the gas tank as far as it will go.”

  Unlike a civilian vehicle, the gas cap on the passenger side of the Humvee had no safety cover. Sandy unscrewed it and fed the hose in as instructed. Richard passed the feed line under the vehicle to the left, and Jason shouted when he had it into the other vehicle’s tank. His movements growing ever more frantic, Richard flipped a switch on the pump. He crowed in triumph as fuel flowed int
o the feed and pump hoses.

  “How much does it have?” Sandy wondered aloud. He forced himself to turn away from the pump and to look down the road. Kendra was looking back over her shoulder now, and she looked as antsy as he felt. She edged closer to the vehicle and the cleared bone pile. The road ahead was clear, if only for the moment.

  “Under a quarter,” Richard reported. “They must have shut their engines off when they started getting low, in case they needed to do the bug-out boogie.”

  No such luck, Sandy thought but didn’t say.

  The supply line stuttered a bit, air burbling between the slugs of diesel. Richard threw the switch again and started pulling on the hose at the same time he called out, “Switch to the other side, Jason.” The line slid out from under the left Humvee, and he forced it under the idling vehicle to the truck on the right as Jason sprinted around. Sandy opened his mouth to ask what he could do but jumped at a sudden popping noise from the rear.

  Their heads jerked around. Kendra backed down the center of the road, and she fired again. The well-chewed corpse of what had been a matronly woman in a housecoat collapsed to the asphalt.

  “Shit,” Sandy hissed. Richard had the other M4 slung over his shoulder and Jason had the shotgun. All he had was his pistol. The bat was lying in the grass, and there was no way of telling if he had time to go for it.

  Before he was aware of having made the decision to move, Sandy found himself in a dead sprint—fatigue or no—down the road. He passed through the piles of bone and stopped behind and to the right of Kendra. He was far enough away from the engine now to hear the rustling in the underbrush on both sides of the road. The infected might have swarmed them already if it weren’t so overgrown. He caught flashes of gray skin through the trees and weeds.

  He pulled the pistol out and thumbed the safety off. “How many, you think?”

  Kendra glanced at him and licked her lips. “Hard telling, but it sounds like a few. You good on the right?”

  Sandy froze for a moment, but shook it off and forced himself to nod. “I’ll do my best.”