Fade to Grey (Book 1): Fade to Grey

by Brian Stewart

  “Holding one-hundred meters back,” Thompson answered.

  “Anything?” Andy asked after a few moments.

  “Wait a sec’ . . .” Michelle answered as she zoomed the binoculars in and out slowly. “Outside of the obvious,” she finally said, “something doesn’t look right.” Keeping her eyes scanning through the Nikon’s as she talked gave her voice a slightly robotic cadence. “It looks to me like this is not an accident. Just going by the angles of the wrecked cars, it looks like they were put there. Like somebody set up a roadblock. And I do see movement. There’s something crawling near the edge of the road on the right. I can’t quite make it out, but I don’t think it’s a friendly.”

  Andy relayed the information to Sam.

  “Can we go around it?” came the reply.

  “Unknown. We’d have to get out and physically walk out in the brush to make sure we wouldn’t run into any sinkholes or swamps. It’s been my experience that once you get off the road you don’t go too far this time of the year,” Andy answered.

  “We’re coming in. We’ll pull directly behind you. Out.”

  “Smart man,” Andy said.

  “Why? I mean he seems pretty sharp to me to,” Michelle said, “but why did you say that now?”

  “If he pulled beside us, and there were some hombres intent on doing us some long distance harm from the barricade up there, well then both of the vehicles and all of the occupants would be exposed. By pulling directly behind us he’s eliminated half of the potential targets.”

  Michelle merely grunted her understanding as she continued to scan the barricade. A slight “tap-tap” on the tailgate alerted them that the other two were behind them.

  “Anything else moving?” Andy asked.

  “Not that I can see. Just that same thing on the right. I still can’t make out what it is though.”

  “Let’s get out and talk to the boys,” Andy finished.

  They gathered behind the rear of Michelle’s truck. Each of them took turns with the binoculars, but none of them were able to add additional insight to Michelle’s initial assessment.

  “Well, we’ve got to go through there. Anybody got any ideas?” Andy asked.

  Sam looked at Thompson, specifically at the rifle he had slung across his chest. “Is that thing full auto?”

  Thompson shook his head and said, “No. Three round burst or semi.”

  “Are any of the other one’s full or select fire?”

  “Nope, they’re all semi-automatic,” Michelle answered.

  Sam asked for the binoculars again and studied the obstacle for another ninety seconds before speaking. “OK, feel free to shoot this down or suggest any improvements, but here’s what I’m thinking. There may be nobody up there, at least not with guns. And I think that’s what we’re most concerned with right now. The question of ‘did somebody set up an ambush, and are they still there intent on causing harm?’ If nobody’s there, great. If it’s infected people, then we deal with that however we can. No matter what, forward is our path. So we need to see if there’s a way through, or around that mess. I’m suggesting that Thompson and I each take a side of the road and work our way up through the brush until we can get within range to make a better assessment. While we’re doing that, you two get in position behind the trucks and be ready to cover us. I think one of you should have Michelle’s high power rifle, and the other should take Thompson’s M4. Do we only have the two walkie talkies?”

  “Yeah,” Andy replied, “we only brought the two.”

  “Hey Andy, are you forgetting why we came here originally?” Michelle asked, beaming a knowing smile.

  “Crap. I must be getting old. Sam, we’ve got a bunch . . . five or six I think, of Fish and Wildlife radios in the back of the truck. So if you want communications, we’ve got them.”

  “Are they charged up?” he asked.

  “No, the battery packs need charged, but they’ll also run on AA batteries, and we’ve got enough to make that happen,” Michelle answered.

  “Well, then let’s do it, unless somebody has a better idea, because I’m colder than a well digger’s ass.”

  “That’s what you get for not taking a change of clothes with you when you got tossed in the pokey,” Thompson chided.

  “Smart ass,” Sam replied. “Just for that, you get to go on the right side of the road.”

  Michelle peered through the scope of the Winchester at the wreckage ahead. Nothing was moving that she could see. Even . . . whatever it was on the right side of the barricade could no longer be seen. Thompson and Sam had each taken a shotgun with them as they crept through the low weeds and scrub brush. Michelle’s job was simple. Scan up ahead and watch for unfriendlies. If they showed up and were hostile, drop them. Andy was using the binoculars to keep track of Sam and Thompson’s progress, as well as providing a second set of eyes on the barrier. So far, so good. At the halfway point, Sam’s whispered voice came over the radio.

  “OK, no contact yet. Although my side of the road is pretty soupy. I don’t think there’s any way we’re going to drive in this stuff, even with four wheel drive.”

  “Same here. I’ve already sank over my boot tops more times and I can count,” came Thompson’s reply.

  Andy keyed the button on the third Fish and Wildlife radio they had managed to supply batteries for. “We’ve got zero movement, repeat . . . we’ve got zero movement from here. Proceed with caution.”

  Both of the scouts acknowledged with a “10-4.”

  Another five minutes passed before Sam transmitted again. “I’m directly in line with the pileup. Hold on the second . . .”

  The second turned into almost a full minute before he came back. “Thompson, where are you?”

  “I’m still about fifteen meters from the front side of the barricade. There’s some thick shit over here that I’m trying to get through without making too much noise.”

  “Wait there.”

  “OK . . . waiting here.”

  Another three minutes passed with no contact from either of the scouts and no movement observed. Finally Sam came over the radio.

  “OK . . . I think we’re OK. I mean whatever happened here, I think we missed the party. I’m on the backside, and I don’t see anybody. So I’ll stay here and cover from this angle while you two drive one of the trucks over. Thompson . . . can you cover the front side from where you are?”

  “Already doing that.”

  “Good man . . . keep it up. And hey, everybody watch your fields of fire . . . don’t shoot unless you’ve got a clear target and know where everybody else is, especially me.”

  They drove Andy’s pickup to a position twenty-five feet in front of the barrier. Michelle had traded her deer rifle for one of the AR 15’s, while Andy elected to stay with Thompson’s M4. Ditching the radio in favor of a shout, Andy crouch-walked up to a position by a newer model, champagne-colored hybrid in the left center. Michelle followed five seconds later, veering off at the last moment to take a position by the burnt-out remains of an upside down mini-pickup.

  “CLEAR,” Andy shouted after a look around.

  “I’M COMING OUT BEHIND YOU,” Thompson shouted before emerging, mud-covered and wet from a low tangle of scrub.

  “STILL CLEAR BACK HERE,” Sam voiced.

  Michelle sprinted to the right and deftly leaped onto the trunk of a white Cadillac, sidestepping across the back window and onto the roof for a better view. After a few more seconds of scanning, she shouted, “CLEAR.”

  Their team reassembled at the rear of the barrier. Nineteen total vehicles were involved, and it was definitely not an accidental pileup. About half of the vehicles had been burned, including the largest of the RV’s. Almost the size of a greyhound bus, it sat parked partially off the road on the back right side of the barrier. The raised elegant script across the back, probably bright silver at the factory but now smoky black, spelled out “Custom Deluxe Cruiser.” The smashed up and moderately charred bulk of an older, full-
sized station wagon was jammed in the center of the barricade and had to be winched out to make a path. After that was done, Andy noticed that Michelle was looking around intently.

  “Are you OK?”

  “Yeah . . .”

  “But . . .” Andy led on.

  Thompson and Sam had approached and were listening as Michelle explained. “What’s wrong with this picture?” she asked.

  Looking around, Thompson was the first reply. “Everything. I mean these cars didn’t just park themselves like that.”

  “I didn’t see any evidence of a firefight,” Sam added, “no casings, no bullet holes. But I can tell you that the three vehicles I looked at in the back all had their tanks punched.”

  “You think that somebody set up this blockade to steal gas?” Andy asked.

  “People are desperate. And even if they weren’t, there’s a lot of assholes in the world. Well, at least there were,” Sam replied.

  Michelle was shaking her head. “No-no-no-no . . . that’s not what I mean. I mean, yeah, all of that is important, but I’m talking about something else.”

  “What? Andy asked.

  “We’ve got nineteen vehicles here. Where are all the people?”

  Stunned silence permeated the area as each of them looked around. As if by unspoken agreement, all of their eyes settled on the burnt-out RV.

  With grim determination on her face, Michelle started walking toward it, only to be brought up short by Andy’s grasp.

  “Whoa there, young lady. Before you go charging off . . .”

  She spun as quick as a cat, twisting inside her wool sweater to face Andy. “Let go of me right now.” Michelle’s eyes were hard and her voice was tinged with ferocity.

  Andy softened his grip but did not let go. His voice took on a gentle demeanor as he spoke again. “Michelle, please . . . just give me a second. Back there, the guy who wrote on the car door . . . remember I said there were two things I wanted to say. Well I never got around to the second thing.”

  The intensity of Michelle’s glare reduced as she took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. “What?”

  Andy acknowledged her attention and spoke as he let her go. “I think we need to give some serious thought to how this sickness is spread. Or rather, how it might be spread.”

  Sam and Thompson both nodded their head in agreement but kept silent. Andy continued.

  “I’m not a bioweapons specialist, heck, I couldn’t even tell you much about the flu other than common sense stuff. But I think it calls for some intelligent speculation on why we’re not . . . at least to our knowledge,” he trailed off for a moment . . . “infected.”

  Michelle slumped, her anger quickly deflated by Andy’s logic.

  Andy continued, “I honestly don’t want to spend any more time than we have to on the subject, at least right now, but I think we need to come up with some universal precautions that we follow until we learn of something better.”

  “Why?” Thompson asked.

  “Why?” Andy asked with surprise.

  “No man, what I mean is why ain’t we infected right now? You said that the doctor at the school told you it was airborne. So why haven’t we been contaminated?”

  They all traded cautious looks among themselves, nobody wanting to be the first to fill in the final thought along Thompson’s line of reasoning. “Maybe we already are.”

  Andy shook his head and said, “I don’t know, Thompson. Maybe we haven’t been close enough to someone who’s infected. Maybe they were past a contagious stage. Maybe the major was wrong and it’s not airborne. I don’t know. That said, I still think we should take some basic precautions. Standard stuff, don’t touch anything you don’t have to, and if you do, wear gloves. We’ve got a box of latex gloves in the truck. Another thing is fluids. I think Sam was spot on when he backed away from that biker before firing. If at all possible we should try to engage at range instead of up close and personal. And . . .” he looked at Michelle specifically, “we should minimize the possibility of exposure whenever possible. Let’s not put ourselves in situations that won’t benefit anything, especially if it wouldn’t make any difference anyhow.”

  A quick agreement was reached, and by the time the winch cable was disconnected from the station wagon and rewound, Michelle’s anger had faded. She had even managed to apologize for her actions, which Andy had promptly dismissed as entirely understandable.

  Michelle peeled her sweater off and pitched it through an open door into the back of Andy’s truck. Her thermal long Johns, jeans, and flannel shirt were more than adequate for the heated cab.

  She stood in front of the truck and stretched—left leg on the hood, right foot on the ground—alternating between grabbing each ankle for a count of fifteen before switching.

  “Ouch. That hurts just watching it,” Sam observed. “What are you, some kind of gymnast?”

  Before she could answer, Andy jumped in. “Dancer. What you’re looking at are the results of many a year’s worth of expensive dance classes. Although I wouldn’t look too close . . . I’m pretty sure she bites.” Andy winked at her before continuing. “And . . . you might get Eric pissed at you. Messing with his woman and all that.”

  “What?” Michelle fumbled the word out.

  “Yeah,” Andy teased, “they’ve been perfect for each other since they was both lil’uns . . . ‘cept each of them are too stubborn and dumb to figure it out.”

  Sam laughed at Michelle’s reddening face and said, “As soon as Thompson gets done taking a leak, we’ll be ready to go.”

  Andy’s reply was cut off by the explosion of gunshots. BOOM! . . . . BOOM-BOOM!

  Drawing their weapons, they saw Thompson’s camouflage form backing out of the brush, shotgun still pointed at something. Rapidly moving up to flank him with support, their eyes searched the area for signs of whenever he had fired at. Thompson was huffing and gasping, shaking with agitation.

  “What is it? Are you OK? . . . . . . .. THOMPSON . . . are you OK?” Sam repeated the question again. A few moments later Thompson nodded. His breathing began to slow and he swallowed a few mouthfuls of water from his canteen.

  “What was it?” Sam asked.

  Through gaps in breathing Thompson said, “Was takin’ a leak . . . heard something . . . look down and thought it was . . . a rock . . . or clump of dirt. Damn thing started moving! IT WAS A FREAKING RED-EYED KID WITH NO FREAKIN’ HANDS OR FEET . . . Like they’ve been chopped off or something . . . starts growling at me and dragging itself through the mud towards me. Man, I shot as I was backing away. Don’t know if I got it though . . . oh man-oh man-oh man . . .” Thompson settled to one knee and started hyperventilating again.

  “Andy, see if you can get him calmed down,” Michelle said, “Sam, let’s go take a look.”

  Carefully walking into the brush that Thompson had emerged from, Michelle and Sam scanned every clump and every rock within view. After another ten feet into the marshy soil, Sam called a halt, pointing with his shotgun at an odd-shaped low mound. Michelle came up even with Sam and stared at the figure, a hollow pit forming in her stomach as words spilled slowly from her mouth.

  “Oh no . . . Please God no . . . .”

  Michelle turned and sprinted back; Sam followed. Andy watched in surprise as she came out of the brush and cut right, going into the tangled wreckage of the blockade. A few steps behind her was Sam. Thompson had settled enough by then, and Andy took off after them. Catching up after a short distance, he found Michelle looking at each of the vehicles, searching for something. Sam looked from Michelle to Andy and shrugged his shoulders, mouthing the words, “I don’t know.”

  Michelle yelped and dashed behind a rusty blue farm truck. Andy and Sam followed.

  “What the hell happened out there?” Andy asked.

  “I don’t know. We found the body . . . it was a kid like Thompson said. It looked like somebody chopped his hands and feet off. Bastards,” Sam spit out.

  “A kid, huh,” An
dy said sadly.

  “Yeah. A little boy. Maybe nine or ten years old . . . wearing this muddy green jacket covered with those little robot guys.”

  Andy’s eyes went wide with comprehension as he heard Michelle scream, “NO!”

  Moving around the farm truck, they found Michelle on her knees crying. Next to her was a burnt-out minivan with the stenciled words “Catering by Melissa” still visible on the side panel.

  Chapter 40

  They stopped the vehicles about three-quarters of a mile past the barricade. Pulling off to the side, they gathered themselves between the trucks where Andy led them in a few prayers. Grim faces with tight pressed lips adorned each of them, and few words were said. Another moment of silence passed before Andy said, "We need to get going."

  Back in the trucks and moving again, the small convoy headed east. Michelle readjusted the thermostat and set the blower selector toward her feet. Fidgeting for a few moments with her key ring brought no relief so she tried the radio. On the few signals strong enough to lock in, the same “stay tuned for an important announcement . . .” loop was playing. Putting her keys away, she looked down at her knees and said quietly, “I’m sorry Andy.”

  “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for Michelle,” he replied.

  “I cried. I never cry . . . well, hardly ever. I’m better than that. Tougher. It won’t happen again . . . I promise.”

  “It will happen again. It better. YOU’RE better than that,” Andy said, “and it would be a tragedy if you let that gentle part of you fade into oblivion. There is a time for crying. And that’s OK. AND . . . you do not need to apologize for it.”

  Michelle said nothing, so Andy continued, “And besides I’m counting on you to pass some of those tough but gentle genes onto my grandkids.” The sparkle in his eyes blazed as her already tired brain did the math and processed what he was implying.

  “Like that will ever happen. I think you hit the nail on the head when you said that I was going to die a fat old maid.”

  Andy paused, looking down the road and apparently lost in deep thought. Michelle watched the side of his face as he drove. It was stone. But even stone cracks.