by Hoaks, C. A.
Leon glanced at the motor then back at the battery. It took five long seconds to switch the connections, then push the button again. The trolling motor vibrated under his hand. He turned the handle, and the Jon boat headed into the open water.
Billy fired a short burst. A body rolled down the incline where one boat remained. “Hurry up, sir.” Brian pushed Dale down into the boat and threw a tarp over his shoulders, “Cover up and don’t move!”
Brian stepped into the back of his Jon boat and pushed away from the shore. When the flat-bottomed boat wobbled under the shifting of Brian’s weight, Dale yelped and tried to stand.
“Sit down, or I’m going to shoot you!” Brian yelled as the boat drifted into the current. He picked up the motor and mounted it on the back. “Get to paddling, unless you want to end up back on shore!”
Dale picked up a paddle and pounded on the shore trying to push the boat from the shore. He did little to move the boat into the current, so it drifted back to within six feet of shore.
Brian looked under the seat for the battery. “Where is the battery?”
Dale put down the paddle and reached under his seat. “This?”
“Toss it back here,” Brian ordered.
Dale made a half-assed pitch that forced Brian to fall forward to catch it leaving him on his hands and knees. He pushed his way back to the seat and sat down again. Trembling with frustration, he connected the battery.
Juan maneuvered his boat next to Brian’s. Juan and Billy grasped the side of the boat and Juan accelerated. The single trolling motor had just enough power to pull the Jon boat from the shore and away from the growing cluster of infected reaching toward them from the bank.
With the battery connected, Brian pressed the button and the vibration of the propeller turning verified power. He gave Billy a quick thumbs-up and both men released their grip on the boat. Quietly, the power of the small propeller pushed the flat bottom boat forward and toward the middle of the creek.
“Everyone, get under the tarps and let’s move out. Single file,” Brian called out above the sound of the storm.
Brian accelerated and moved his boat to the lead. When he got his knee under the handle, he broke out his tarp at his feet. “Dale, pull in the edges of that tarp inside the boat and do it now.”
“Asshole,” Dale mumbled.
“That’s asshole, Sir, to you,” answered Brian as he pulled his tarp over his head and tented the plastic around his face, leaving just enough of an opening to see where he was directing the Jon boat.
Rain pelted the survivors. As the storm raged over the next hour, the rainwater made its way from storm drains into bayous then into larger waterways, including Leon Creek. The levels rose, and the rushing water grew swifter and more turbulent.
Chapter 33
Ambush
Matt hurried after the two men that had been sent into the woods to come up on the back side of the shed. After a five minute sprint through the dark, he heard them. Slowly, he advanced. He saw their silhouettes against the fading night sky. They carried rifles held to their shoulders, fanning the barrels back and forth as if monsters would jump from every shadow. They drew close to a large stand of mesquite.
Matt grinned. HE was the monster they were not expecting. He slipped deeper into the gloom of the mesquite bushes and picked up a rock. He glanced at the two men, then tossed the stone to the opposite side of the pair. Both men stopped, frozen in place.
After a brief whispering conference, one of the men headed toward the sound where the rock had landed. The second man stood still waiting for his companion to check out the noise. The waiting man’s hands holding the rifle trembled as he moved his weapon to cover his cohort.
Matt stepped back into the shadows. It took several seconds to circle to the back of the cluster of mesquite. When he stopped, he stood near enough to the man to hear his raspy breathing. Matt side-stepped from behind a tree and pulled the man’s head back to drive the blade up into the flesh under the man’s chin. Without a sound, the man relaxed against Matt’s chest, and he pulled the ten-inch blade free. Matt grabbed the rifle strap before the weapon could fall from the man’s fingers, then pulled the body back into the brush and slowly eased it to the ground. He placed his foot on the dead man’s back and rolled him under the brush.
Footsteps in the dark alerted Matt of the second man’s approach. Matt stepped behind a forked cedar as he listened to the man walk closer.
“Where the fuck are you?” The man called out in a loud whisper.
Matt answered, “Over here.”
“Where?” The man stopped and whispered back.
“This way, over here,” Matt whispered.
The man took a tentative step forward, then another and another. Suddenly, Matt slammed the butt of the confiscated rifle into the man’s head. He went down with only a grunt. Matt checked his pulse then strung the man up under a massive oak limb with a length of cord. The man’s feet barely touched the ground when he was done.
Matt searched the man’s pockets, finding nothing but a dirty handkerchief and a couple handful of bullet. Matt pocketed the bullets, then pushed the rag into the prisoner’s mouth. He pulled a towel from his own pocket and wrapped it across the man’s open mouth and tied it behind his head. Matt gave the man a shove and walked away. He picked up both rifles and handguns. He slid them under the brush near where he’d left the first man’s body. Matt glanced toward the road and realized he was less than a quarter mile from the shack. The moon had risen, full and bright. He sprinted after the two men sent to circle around the back of the shed.
Tate lay out on the hay bale forty feet from the corner of the shed, ignored the hint of light between the weathered boards of the shed and kept her eyes moving, examining every shadow, looking for movement from the road to the woods. Suddenly, she noticed several dark shapes appear from the woods to lumber across the pasture heading toward the shed. She watched the four-legged, short-horned, thick bodies plod toward the water tank. She heard a nearby snort from behind her as animals rounded the hay bales heading toward the rest of the herd.
She studied the shapes and realized they were not cattle. She was surrounded by a herd of buffalo. She had heard a couple ranches in the Hill Country supplied meat to specialty restaurants in Houston and Austin. Getting back to the truck might be interesting. Buffalo were unpredictable and could be dangerous if they felt threatened.
Tate turned the scope on her rifle from the shadows and saw a sudden glint of light from the road. She squinted into the scope and made out two bent shadows rushing across the blacktop. She followed the moving silhouettes with the rifle scope as they sprinted toward the shed. The men made it across the open road and squatted at the corner of the fence pointing weapons toward the shed. After a full minute, one of the men rose and rushed to the corner of the shed where he disappeared into the shadows. The second man started to follow then suddenly stopped and turned. He kicked out with his left leg just in time to connect with a second shadow. Tate watched as Matt doubled over, spun around and delivered his first blow. His foot connected with the man’s leg. The man tucked his body and rolled away coming up with his revolver in his hand. As he brought the barrel up, Tate fired.
Matt grabbed at the barrel of the weapon just as the bullet tore into the man and he fell to the ground. Matt jammed the weapon into the back of his pants and threw up his hand in a loose wave. He hurried after the man’s companion.
Suddenly, three shots rang out behind the shed. Stampeding hooves and the sound of snorting beasts filled the night. The ground trembled with the pounding of the stamped. A terrified scream rose above the charging buffalo.
Matt ran to the corner of the shed and looked around in time to see a man disappear under the mass of running bison. The herd, startled by the gunfire, stampeded toward the man running from the shed. The buffalo lumbered past the building in a wide arc and disappeared into the night.
When the night grew silent, Matt made his way to where th
e man had disappeared. He pulled a light from his pocket and fanned the beam back and forth until he found the remains. The man’s chest was crushed, while his arms and legs were broken and bent at odd angles. His face was scraped and bloodied with dirt and rocks pounded into the flesh. He groaned. Matt pulled his knife and drove the tip into the man’s eye. When he had cleaned his knife on the man’s shirt, he turned toward the hay bales and snapped the light off and on twice.
Tate blinked her flashlight back and rose up to look at the retreating herd one last time before she slid down the side of the bale. She walked toward Matt; taking a slight detour to the man she had shot. She swung the light down to examine the body. The bullet had gone into the middle of the chest and blown out the back of his spine. When the man’s eyes blinked, she pulled the knife from her belt and jabbed it into the man’s temple. She cleaned the blade on his shirt sleeve and returned it to the leather scabbard. She made her way to Matt’s side.
“Well, I take it that’s all of ‘em?” Tate asked.
“Except for one that I left strung up down the road,” Matt answered.
Tate looked at the body on the ground. The lower jaw had begun to work spastically. “Now that’s fucked up. He’s still alive.”
Matt squatted next to the body to get a better look. “It’s the virus? I thought it took a bite or blood to reanimate the dead?”
Tate let out a long breath and whispered, “You know what that means?” Matt looked confused, and she continued. “It’s airborne. The virus has mutated, and we’re all going to come back.” Tate leaned over with her hands on her knees taking deep breaths, fighting the clenching of her stomach. She could feel nausea begin to fade. “The world is so fucked,” She whispered.
“Looks like it.” Matt pulled his blade and slid the ten-inch steel into the attacker’s eye socket and twisted. “Let’s go talk to a man about those women.”
Matt led Tate to the hanging prisoner from the oak limb, retrieving weapons along the way. He only bothered with the handgun from the trampled man. The rifle barrel had bent under the hooves of the herd.
When they got to the oak tree, Tate gasped at the sight of the man swinging from the oak limb. The whites of his eyes glowed in the shadows of the night. He was terrified. Matt got to his side and untied the towel. He pulled the rag from the man’s mouth.
“Talk,” Matt ordered.
The man moaned. “I can’t feel my hands. Cut me down, please.”
Tate walked up and slapped the man’s face. “Quit whining. Now tell us about the women in the cage, asshole.”
The man looked panicked. “They’re for the camp. Jed said we needed women to rebuild the world.”
Matt stood back and folded his arms across his chest. Tate leaned closer with an angry scowl. “What kind of camp?”
“Our camp? The boss is a survivalist, sort of. We used to go out a couple times a month to shoot guns, and Jed always brought a couple whores….” His voice trailed off when he noticed the look on Tate’s face.
She slammed her fist into the man’s gut. “You fuckers kidnapped ‘em?”
“Well?” the man began, but Matt grabbed his face in a vice-like grip.
“You’re going to tell us all about your buddies. How many people went on this little kidnapping raid and who’s in charge? And, where are they camped?” He leaned close and spoke softer, yet. “If you don’t tell me everything, I’ll hamstring you and leave you tied to a tree for the wolves.”
The man nodded his head. “I’ll tell you!”
An hour later, Tate, Matt, and Rodney, the kidnapper, were headed back to the camp where the women were being held. Tate sat next to Rodney in the pickup with a gun pressed into his ribs. Matt stood in the truck bed.
“Make this good, or I shoot, and you’ll be the first one I take out,” Tate ordered.
Matt studied the camp ahead as the truck approached. Six survivalists remained in the camp to wait for the men that would not be returning. Rodney slowed as he neared the camp and saw the first guard. Rodney slowed the truck and Matt slipped over the tailgate at the back of the truck.
“Don’t do anything stupid and you might survive this,” Tate whispered.
“Sammy? That you?” Rodney called out the open window as he neared a man standing at the entrance of a farmhouse driveway.
Tate ducked her head into the collar of the denim jacket she’d found in the truck.
“Sure is. Where’s the rest of the boys?” Sammy asked.
“They’ll be bringing up the big truck as soon as they siphon diesel from a fifty-five-gallon drum we found.” Rodney glanced toward Tate.
“Good deal. We need all the fuel we can get.” Sammy laughed. “Head on in. Cows are fed, and it’s almost time to check out one or two.” He grinned wickedly.
Tate jammed the gun into Rodney’s side. “Move out,” she hissed.
Rodney accelerated, and the truck pulled away. Tate glanced back and saw a shadow swallow Sammy in a deadly embrace.
Chapter 34
Sharecropper Life
“You won’t believe all the stuff in the shed.” Zack and Della rushed into the cabin, each carrying two five-gallon metal cans.
Zack announced, “It looks like the guy was stocking up. Maybe he was some kind of prepper or survivalist.”
Della added, “We found sealed metal cans filled with beans, rice, shortening, flour, sugar, and even a handful of spices.”
Zack continued, “I found a sun hydrator and a smoker in the back, too. It looks like they stocked up for an extended stay when they came up here. They maybe even planned to spend time living up here.”
Steve rolled into the cabin from the front porch where he had been sitting with the rifle across the armrests of the wheelchair, “Bring the supplies inside. Let the ladies see what we have to plan meals around.”
“Do you think the owner will be mad if we use their stuff?” Zack asked. “They stocked up a lot of food and if we eat it….”
“No, I don’t think so. I think they’re dead or were forced into a FEMA camp,” Steve answered as he shifted to find a more comfortable position on the chair. “I found a couple receipts from stores in Houston in the kindling buckets. If they were going to come, they would have made it by now.” He rolled the chair across the room. “My guess is that they were evacuated to a camp. Usually, refugee camps limit people coming and going. That would make sense to reduce the chance of exposure to the virus.”
“That would suck to know you have this waiting and not being able to get to it.” Zack gave a careless shrug.
The three women unpacked the metal cans, excited to see the food available. Millie sorted the spoils into piles. When she was done, all the items were arranged on the table. She checked the cabinets, then walked back to the stash, made a face, and scrawled lists on a scrap of brown paper bag with a stump of a pencil.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it. But I think that extends our stay a while.” Steve ran the back of his arm across his forehead. “Can I get another glass of water? It’s warm out here,” he called out from the open front door.
Della glanced at Steve sitting on the porch, surprised at his request. She crossed the worn wood floor and pressed the back of her hand against his forehead. “You’re running a fever. You need to rest for a while. We got this. Darlene and I can keep watch.”
“I have to admit I’m tired.”
“Miss Millie said she’d teach me to trap if we can find supplies to make traps,” Zack answered. “We’ll be eating high on the hog.”
Millie looked up. “We got plenty of staples but only a few cans of meat. We gonna get real tired of beans real soon.”
“I think you’re probably right. That would make the supplies last longer for sure.” Steve rolled through the door and to the bunk where he shifted himself into the bed. “That is if you catch anything.” He forced a chuckle. “You don’t look much like Daniel Boone to me, Zack.”
Millie directed Della in putting a few of the bottle
s and cans in the cabinets while the rest in plastic bags were returned to the storage tins, then arranged the containers against the wall near the makeshift kitchen. She gave instructions to Darlene concerning the midday meal, then led Zack out the back door.
With Zack in tow, Millie hobbled past the shed to the vegetable garden beyond. The scattering of plants left after the mild winter appeared to be volunteer growth. Someone had thrown fresh vegetable scraps into a compost pile where they had germinated and grown. Among the remnants of vegetation were tomato plants, yellow summer squash and zucchini vines with fruit hanging on a section of fencing. In the corner of the fallow garden were cucumber plants and the smattering of trailing foliage from sweet potatoes.
Millie followed the fencing to the back of the shed, then pointed to several plants a short distance from the garden.
“Boy, you pick this Plantago. You pick the tender young leaves, then we cook ‘em and have greens. There’s plenty, so fill this bowl.” She pointed to a second plant. “That second pan, fill with those other leaves and blossoms. I’ll pick some cherry tomatoes and pull some onions. We’ll have a salad of sorts.”
Zack glanced down at the plants. “Yes, mam.” He picked a handful of the lighter green leaves and dropped them in the pan.
Millie chuckled. “This afternoon, we gonna make you into a trapper man. Before then, though, we have to find some supplies.” She shuffled off to the compost pile to pick tomatoes.
An hour later, Millie and Zack returned to the house with two full pans. Darlene had a meal prepared that was completed by the greens and tomato salad. All but Steve enjoyed the lunch. He waved away offers and closed his eyes.
Leaving Darlene to clean up, Millie followed Zack from the cabin. They made their way to the shed. Millie stood at the opened double doors for a few minutes, then made her way to the work table at one side of the ram-shackled structure. There, Millie picked up a thin steel cable wound in a coil. She looked inside a cardboard box and dropped inside, then scratched around on a work bench and found tools and a handful of other supplies. When Millie was satisfied she had what she wanted, she led Zack back to the cabin and settled on the shaded back porch at a picnic table.