The devastation of the skyline couldn’t compare to the carnage that existed along the waterfront. The Boston Harbor Hotel had been gutted by fire, with streaks of black extending from shattered windows along the seafront façade. Less than one hundred feet from Rowes’ Wharf, the top deck of a Boston Harbor cruise ship stuck out of the water at a slight angle, surrounded for hundreds of feet on either side by a virtual forest of masts and antennas from sunken sailboats and pleasure crafts. A few boats still remained tied to the pier. Natalie could see that every wharf and harbor-front street swarmed with thousands of the living dead. She didn’t even want to think about the nightmare that had befallen those who had rushed to the harbor seeking safety.
As they cruised past, the horde of rotters spotted the vessel. Like a wave, the living dead pressed forward, dozens being shoved off the wharves to splash into the harbor. Even from this distance, their moans sounded deafening. Natalie felt fear start in the pit of her stomach and spread along her spine.
“How the fuck did we get here?” she barked at Ari. “Did you get lost?”
“N-No. I….”
“Don’t blame her, honey. Since it wasn’t that far inland from our route, I thought maybe we could find a place to refuel.”
Natalie looked again at the waterfront. Even more of the rotters dropped into the harbor.
What if those fucking things can swim?
“Head back to the coast,” Natalie ordered. “It’s too dangerous here.”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” said Emily, trying to lighten the mood. She stepped up to the wheel and tapped Ari on the shoulder. “I’ll take over for a while.”
“Thanks.”
Emily turned the yacht into a tight U-turn that brought it close to the waterfront. The horde burst into a full frenzy. The yacht maneuvered close enough to shore that she not only could smell the stench of thousands of decayed bodies, but could start to make out individual rotters in the crowd. Only when the vessel had passed Castle Island and returned safely to the outer harbor did she take her eyes off shore.
Ari stood beside her, her head bowed like a chastised child. Natalie placed an arm around her shoulder. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
Ari smiled. “Don’t worry about it.”
“That’s my fault,” said Emily.
“You’re right that we need to find fuel,” Natalie replied. “We just need to be more careful about where.”
“There should be a lot of more isolated places where we can refuel. I just hope others didn’t have the same idea.”
Natalie gave a final glance toward Boston. “If what we saw back there is any indication of what we’ll find up and down the coast, I doubt we’ll see many survivors out here.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Robson’s team had been traveling the better part of a day searching for a new, secure location to serve as their base. After making certain the Angels had gotten safely on their way, Robson led the convoy back to Kittery and then retraced the original route they had taken to get to Site R. The journey led them along the east bank of the Piscataqua River, where they eventually crossed over into New Hampshire through rotter-infested Dover. Once clear of the city, they made their way west, stopping only once before dawn to allow Dravko and Tibor to switch to the back of the Ryder before continuing. Thirty minutes after sunrise, the convoy entered Barnston.
Robson stopped on the western outskirts of town and picked up the microphone to his radio. “Heads up, people. We’re not far from the spot where the rape gang ambushed us.”
“I hope you’re not planning on setting up camp here,” DeWitt responded.
“I want to put a few more miles between us and them. I’m just getting my bearings. Hang tight, and keep your eyes open.”
Robson looked over at Jennifer, who had the map spread across her knees. “What do you got?”
“Up ahead to the left is Parade Road, which is where we were camped when those assholes attacked. Just beyond that is Suncock Valley Road. I suggest we take that north and see what we can find.”
“Sounds good to me.” Robson continued on until he reached Suncock Valley Road and turned right. Trees lined both sides of the road, casting the area in shadows. Robson drove cautiously, half expecting to run into a roadblock set up by the rape gang. Every few seconds, his eyes glanced to the rearview mirror to make sure no one followed them. He remembered the first time they came through this territory, how peaceful and serene he found it, and how he would like to have settled down here one day if this outbreak could ever be brought under control. This time, every nerve remained on edge because he knew too well that a danger lurked in these woods greater than any rotter they could encounter.
“We should be coming to the residential community of Locke Lake any minute,” said Jennifer, her concentration still focused on the map.
“You mean the former residential community,” replied Robson.
“I don’t under….” Jennifer’s voice trailed off when she saw what he referred to.
The remnants of the town sat off to their right. Every home they could see had been ransacked, with furniture and clothing spread across the front lawns. The windows on each home had been smashed and the doors torn from their hinges. A few had been torched. Even the vehicles had suffered the same fate, with every one of them having been stripped of tires and, judging by the open gas caps, siphoned of fuel before being set ablaze. Most disturbing of all, bodies lay strewn throughout the area. At first, Robson thought they were rotters, until he drove past a group lying near the road. Though the corpses had decayed, they wore clothes in relatively good condition, something not found on the living dead. None of them seemed to have experienced head trauma. It dawned on him that these were the local citizens gunned down and left to rot.
Jennifer took a deep breath and shuddered. “None of them are women or children. That’s a good sign.”
“No it isn’t. It means the residents of this town are probably manning the gang’s outer perimeter.”
The convoy approached a crossroads. The sign on the left spur read North Road. Robson pointed to it. “Where does that take us?”
“Hang on a minute.” Jennifer consulted the map. “There’s a small town named Gilmanton about three miles down.”
“It’s good enough for me. At least it’s away from here.” Slowing the Humvee, he veered left onto North Road and accelerated, making sure the others followed.
The road appeared as if it had not been traveled for several months. After less than ten minutes of driving, the convoy entered the outskirts of Gilmanton. The town consisted of fewer than twenty buildings, with a single street bisecting the main thoroughfare. A general store and post office sat off to the left, with private residences on the right. Two hundred feet farther down, the spire of the local church stood above the tree line. The area looked serene and untouched. None of the buildings were ransacked, like in Locke Lake. The only indication that the area had undergone a living dead apocalypse came from half a dozen rotter corpses littering the center of town, each felled with a clean shot to the head. For Robson, the place seemed as good as any, so he pulled into the parking lot of the general store.
He stepped out of the Humvee, and DeWitt joined him. “Is this where we’re setting up camp?”
“This town is as good a place as any. It doesn’t appear that anyone has bothered with it, rotters aren’t a concern, and it’s far enough off the beaten path that we shouldn’t have to worry about the rape gang finding us. Just in case I’m wrong….” Robson stepped into the street and pointed to the building they had passed on the way in, the one that read Gilmanton Iron Works Construction, “there’s a couple of garage bays in that building. We can park the Humvees in there to keep them out of sight.”
“What about the Ryder?”
“Pull it around back. If anyone drives by, I doubt they’ll even notice it.”
“We’ll take care of it, and we’ll make sure the building is clear of rotters.”
“Go
od. Jennifer and I will check out the general store. Call on the radio if you need back up.”
“Gotcha.”
After DeWitt walked away and called the others together, Robson motioned for Jennifer to join him and headed for the general store. He stepped up onto the front porch and peered through the window, scanning the aisles. He couldn’t detect any movement.
“See anything?” Jennifer asked.
“Nope.” He rapped on the glass several times, but still saw no signs movement.
“That’s good.”
“Remember what happened last time we went into a convenience store we thought was free of rotters.”
“I’d rather forget that, thanks.” Jennifer withdrew her .357 Magnum and grabbed the door handle. “Ladies first?”
“Be my guest,” replied Robson, clutching his AA-12.
Jennifer opened the door and leaned in. “Is anyone in here?”
Silence. Jennifer stepped inside, her Magnum raised and ready to fire, and moved along the front of the store, peering down each aisle as she passed it. Robson followed to her right. When they reached the wall, he moved down the aisle to the back of the store, checking for danger. The store was empty.
Lowering the shotgun, he yelled out, “Clear!”
“Are we going to check out the back room?”
“Not yet. I want back up before we do.”
Robson walked down the second aisle. All the shelves had been emptied, but not from looting because no debris lay scattered across the floor. The only items not taken, such as household goods, remained neatly stacked.
“Did you find anything?” called Jennifer from one aisle over.
“Just toilet bowl and glass cleaner.”
“Nothing here, either.”
“Whoever cleaned out this place did a thorough job.”
Jennifer met him at the end of the aisle. “Are we making Gilmanton our new camp?”
“Just until we figure out a way to get Windows back. Then we’ll find someplace more secure.” He motioned toward the front door. “Come on. Let’s help DeWitt and the others check out the construction company and get settled in.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The hand slid up Windows’ back and cupped her shoulder, squeezing gently. Her eyes popped open as she jolted out of her sleep. A cold shiver shot down her spine and her skin crawled under the touch. She felt her vagina clench. She’d already had sex with Meat twice tonight. The first time, she had woken up to find her pants down around her knees with him on top of her. Then, a few hours later, he had roused her and demanded a blow job. Christ knew what he wanted now. Swallowing hard to force down the bile rising in her throat, she rolled over to face the latest indignity.
Debra knelt beside her. “How are you doing?”
“How do you think I’m doing?” Windows sat up and pulled the end of the sleeping bag across her chest, holding it tight against her. “He raped me twice last night. And Jesus Christ, doesn’t he ever bathe? He smelled so bad it gagged me.”
“Hygiene is not a priority around here.” Debra stood up. “Besides, last night was better than the alternative.”
Windows’ face flushed. “That’s easy for you to say. I’m the one who took over being his play toy while you got a break.”
“Not for long. Meat will soon get bored and want to do us both at once.” Debra wrapped an arm around her daughter, hugging her close. Her tone became hard and angry. “I went through the same thing you did my first night here, only Cindy was made to watch the entire time. So don’t lecture me about how bad you have it.”
“Sorry.”
“Forget about it.” Debra rubbed her daughter’s head, and then looked over at Windows. “Come on. We all have chores to do around here. I got you assigned to work the kitchen detail with us. It’s the best job available.”
“Why’s that?” Windows rolled on to her knees and began folding the sleeping bag.
“It’s not that difficult. You have to prepare three meals a day, which is challenging considering how limited the food supplies are. More importantly, there are four of us in the kitchen most of the time. You’ll make the fifth.”
“Safety in numbers?”
Debra nodded.
“And we can sneak food,” said Windows trying to lighten the mood.
“Trust me, you won’t want to sneak any of what we serve here.”
Five minutes later, the three girls reached the “kitchen”, an empty storage unit facing the northern wall of the compound. Outside the open sliding door, a large pot hung by a chain from a tripod, with embers from a dead fire piled up underneath. One woman, a blonde in worn and dirty jeans, swept the ashes into a dustpan while a brunette with short-cropped, badly-cut hair poured water into the pot and cleaned it. Along one wall inside the unit sat a fifty-five-gallon drum filled with dirty water. A teenage girl stood in front of it, taking a soiled dish, pushing it beneath the surface, and wiping it clean with her hand. When she pulled out the dish, she flicked off the excess water and used a towel almost as dirty as the water to dry it.
Debra stepped into the middle of the women. “Girls, this is Windows. She’ll be joining us on kitchen detail.”
The brunette glanced up. “So, this is Meat’s new whore?”
Windows bristled, but Debra interceded. “We all do what we have to in order to survive.”
The brunette huffed and went back to cleaning.
Debra turned her back on the woman and spoke to Windows, gesturing behind her to the brunette. “The pleasant one here is Tracey. That’s Karen.” She pointed to the blonde sweeping the ashes, and then to the teenager cleaning the dishes. “And that’s Lisa. Follow me.”
The two stepped inside the container unit. Against the rear wall sat a stockpile of boxes of rations. Windows read the labels. Almost everything came in cans, from luncheon meats, tuna fish, beans, and chili up to a variety of fruits and vegetables. A few cartons contained packages of jerky.
“This is all you have for rations?” asked Windows.
“It’s all we have left. We went through the perishables within the first week, and all of the frozen foods shortly after. Every time the raiding parties go out foraging, they bring back as many canned goods as they can find. The past two months they’ve come back empty. Everything within a forty mile radius has either been cleaned out by us or someone else, or it’s in one of the big towns where there are too many deaders to get it. At the rate we’re going, we’ll be out of food in a month.”
“Then what happens?”
Debra shrugged and looked away. She picked up a metal plate that held a pile of baked beans and two strips of beef jerky, and handed it to Windows. “Since we’re done here, you get to feed our special guest.”
“Special guest?”
“The creepy man,” whispered Cindy.
“He’s not creepy,” Debra gently admonished. “He’s just old.”
“I don’t understand,” said Windows.
Debra motioned for Windows to follow. They walked down to the end of the compound to the last unit in the far corner. The words KEEP OUT were written on the door in red paint. A padlock kept the sliding door secured to the frame. Debra bent down, removed a set of keys from her pocket, and opened it. Sliding the lock out of the ground mounting, she placed it to one side and lifted up the door halfway. When Windows didn’t move, she motioned inside. “Go ahead.”
Windows bent down and ducked under, and Debra closed the door behind her.
This unit was even more Spartan than her own living quarters, which said a lot. The “furniture” consisted of a dirty sleeping bag crumpled up in one corner and a bucket in the opposite. The only light came from a battery-operated lantern placed in the center of the floor, its beam so dull that it barely lit the corners. A heavy stench of urine and shit permeated the room. She assumed the odor came from the bucket, which must have served as a toilet.
A raspy voice came out of nowhere. “Hello.”
Windows spun around, searching f
or the person associated with the voice. Fear threatened to overwhelm her, and she fought back the urge to scream. Instead, she prepared to fight, fueling it with her rage, rage that came from Debra having set her up. Windows would deal with her if she got out of here alive. Right now, her eyes darted around the unit, but she couldn’t see into the corners because of the dark.
“I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Something stirred inside the sleeping bag. One of the flaps fell to the side, revealing a haggard old man sitting underneath. She had not noticed him at first because his clothes appeared as threadbare and filthy as the sleeping bag. Long, white, unwashed hair hung in clumps off his head and draped across his shoulder, with several loose strands sticking against his scraggly beard. His features were drawn and gaunt. She could hardly see his eyes between the dark circles under them and the lack of light, but they mirrored a broken and defeated soul. The fingers on both his hands twisted in unnatural positions and curled in against the palms at awkward angles. Placing his deformed hands on the ground, he struggled to sit upright, and then leaned back into the corner. When he did, the odor of feces became so overwhelming Windows gagged.
Rotter World (Book 2): Rotter Nation Page 8